The Switch
by susurrate
Summary: While serving detention in the Forbidden Forest, Harry and Draco are attacked by a magical creature who transfers their minds into each other's bodies. Draco, now in Harry's body, inherits the nightmares and visions that the Horcrux inside Harry's body propagates. Will they be able to reverse what has happened to them? What does this mean for the prophecy?
1. Detention

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story has a minor AU element: Takes place in the fall of Hogwarts Year Six, but Draco has not received the Dark Mark or his tasks as he canonically did the previous summer. (Guess what's coming.)  
>I borrow these characters and their world from J.K. Rowling, with love and gratitude in my heart.<p>

* * *

><p>Blackness.<p>

Draco held his right palm up, a small flame tickling the edge of his skin as the charm worked to maintain the little light. This was a much more practical technique than the last time he had detention with Potter in the Forbidden Forest back in Year One. Then, he was forced to encumber himself with a heavy, clunky lantern. That thing had been bigger than his head; how could he have properly defended himself and maintained visibility if the need for swift action arose? Of course, Hagrid never thought these things through; and at the time, Draco didn't know the advanced spells that would provide him with alternatives.

Despite the flame charm, which was not only elegant but freed his wand for any additional casting he may require, the entire forest was just as he remembered.

Blackness.

Draco had always been scared of this place. Not that he'd admit it. But still, there were so many rumours…There were whispers that the Dark Lord himself hid here back in their first year. Who knows what else calls this place a refuge?

"Plan to run screaming like a bitch again, Malfoy?"

Draco snarled at him. "As I recall, _you_ were the idiot who didn't know when to keep silent—"

"_I_ couldn't keep silent?!"

"—and instead made this massive fuss about your stupid scar and drew the monster's attention straight at us. Any sane wizard would have run." Draco scanned Harry derisively. "Case in point."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please. You still don't know what really happened that night. It's so sad."

"I know what happened that night-you almost got us killed. Going to try for an encore?"

"Let's just get everything on McGonagall's stupid list and get out of here." Harry never thought he'd piss off his Head of House so severely that she'd actually send him to the Forest again. Not when she knew the truth about his last experience in here… "It'd go faster if we split up and were each looking for only some of the stuff on our own," he suggested.

"Sure," Draco said as smoothly as he could. "Since it's your fault we're in this mess, we'll split it up 20-80, with you taking all the nasty stuff in the top 80." Draco smirked as he saw the fury flashing in Potter's eyes.

"I am _not _taking eighty percent of our combined detention!"

"Fine. 25-75, my gift to you. But you owe me." He smiled sweetly over his shoulder at Potter.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Scared to go it alone all night? Want me to hold your hand?"

"Fuck you."

And so they continued on together, searching out the items McGonagall had stabbed across the parchment, splotches of ink sprayed in harassment.

"I can't even read this. Malfoy, move that light closer."

Draco puffed up indignantly. He was not sharing his fire charm with Potter on command. "There's this thing called 'Lumos'. Even the first years have figured it out. Do it yourself."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Why are you so bloody difficult? _Lumos._"

"Just because I don't babysit you like Granger, doesn't mean I'm difficult." Draco hated how petulant he sounded at that. Distracted, he stumbled over a risen root. Potter snickered at him before turning to squint at the parchment.

"-What does this even mean?! 'Esurio tumulus'?" Harry asked, struggling over the Latin.

"Roughly means 'the hungry earth'. Quicksand."

"Why can't she just write 'quicksand'…" Harry muttered, irritated and embarrassed.

"Because despite her unfortunate House affiliations, she's not a complete plebian," Draco retorted.

Harry glared at him. "You are such a stuck up little shit sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Draco asked in mock innocence, raising his eyebrows.

Harry ignored him. "How the hell are we supposed to fetch her quicksand?! The minute we remove it, it just becomes sand and water. It's not quicksand anymore after that. Not really. And how are we supposed to even get it out?! It's…well, quicksand. Kinda hard to move in it."

Draco shrugged, a fluid dismissal from one shoulder. "Perhaps if you went and dry-drowned in a patch, she would realize the error of her ways and release me from the burden of figuring it out for the both of us."

"That's only in movies."

"What?"

"You can't actually submerge fully in quicksand."

"Who told you that, muggles?" Draco said jokingly.

Harry glared at him. "Yes," he said defiantly.

"You're actually citing 'muggle expertise' at me, Potter?!" Draco laughed. "Do you really think the things that muggles teach you will be applicable in the Forbidden Forest?" To his delight, his little fire showed Potter's face getting red. "That's right," Draco said, voice slow and overly accommodating, condescension building thick on every word. "You can't submerge in quicksand. And centaurs aren't real. And magic is just pretend."

"She's listed twelve items," Harry ground out. "We find these, we go back, we're done."

Draco impatiently held his hand out. "Give it here."

Potter looked at him curiously and handed the parchment over. Draco read through it carefully; most of it was "team-building exercise" type items. How terribly obvious. He snorted.

"Alright, these are tricky, but with two people they should be doable. I think we should start with the Moss Pilgrims," Draco said. Harry nodded, grateful that Malfoy knew what the hell that was and was finally willing to cooperate.

A shriek, followed by a sickening crunch, bloomed in the air. Draco jumped, eyes wide in fear. Harry's eyes narrowed in focus, trying to figure out where the sound came from.

"Don't you dare go after it," Draco whispered, catching the look in Harry's eye.

"…it sounded like something was hurt—"

"That's how wild creatures eat or maintain dominance. Let them be."

A high pitched, desperate keening; a growling, snuffling sound. "It's definitely hurt," Harry said, moving towards the sound with his wand out.

"No! Stop," Draco grabbed Harry's cloaked arm and spun the boy to face him. "We aren't here for them. We have a job to do. C'mon…" Harry jerked his arm out of Draco's grasp. "You can wait here if you want. I'll be right back."

Draco sighed as he watched Potter dash through the stones and shadow, towards the monsters that gave this forest its name. "If I get hurt, you are finding ALL the items yourself," he muttered as loudly as he dared while pursuing danger. Harry turned around and grinned at him. Draco tried to look pissed off in turn, but couldn't quite manage it when seeing Potter smile at him like that. It simply took his breath away.

He quickly shook off the strange feeling and concentrated on not getting eaten alive.

"Nox," Harry whispered. "Get rid of the fire, it'll see us coming a mile away."

"It'll still hear us, with your not-so-stealthy trampling," Draco muttered but complied. He halted when the light disappeared; he could barely see two feet in front of him. All that existed now were minutely differing shades of black. A small wind blew through the trees, and Draco had to fight the urge to jump at every movement caught in the corners of his eyes.

He couldn't believe how rapidly Harry could navigate the darkness. Draco was moving as fast as he could, but he was constantly on the lookout to avoid rocks, roots, holes, brambles, burning mist, and fairie rings. Not to mention the random pools of quicksand.

Maybe Harry just didn't care. It would be just like him to break his ankle and martyr himself.

_Why am I following this pillock again?!_

Something snarled at his feet as he ran past, and Draco's wand arm twitched back to the sound on pure reflex. _Because if I don't follow, I'm left alone in the Forest. _The idea had been one of his worst nightmares since that detention in Year One. He did not fancy the idea of willingly fulfilling it.

He forced himself to hurry even further.

He saw Harry stop just up ahead in front of a small clearing. Draco rushed to his side; the edge of the clearing sloped beneath them like a shallow bowl. Near the opposite edge two figures could be seen in the spikes of moonlight that penetrated the clearing. The first, a skinny girl, maybe fourteen, with skin the colour of limes and long golden welts clawed across her body, her left knee broken, trying to drag herself across the forest floor; and the second, a man with the body of a heavyweight wrestling champion covered in tawny fur with black spots, playing with his prey.

"Impedimenta!" Harry cast; but he barely got the first syllable out before the creature had whipped his head around to glare at them. By the end of the curse, he disappeared. Harry's hex dissolved into the grass where the creature had been seconds before.

"What the—" Harry stopped short.

The creature reappeared instantly about a foot away from its original spot, still guarding its prize. It stood seven feet tall, and had the head of a hyena. It bore its fangs and growled, a viscous gold fluid oozing from around its jaws. The same substance was leaking from the victim's leg and cuts.

Draco was the first to recover. "Stupefy!" But the creature disappeared again.

"How is it doing that!? You can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds!" Harry snarled.

"We can't," Draco grimaced. "But house-elves can. And so can this thing."

It reappeared and disappeared in rapid succession three times in random spots throughout the clearing, taunting them, testing them, gauging their reactions. Draco and Harry shot multiple curses at it, each failing their mark.

Draco was scanning the clearing for where it might next reappear. "That thing's faster than a snitch!"

Harry stole a glance at Draco. "Bet I curse it before you."

Draco looked back at Harry, and saw him smiling with recklessness and joy. He was suddenly grinning back. "You're on."

"_Watch out!"_ the girl—the boy?—the green youth on the ground screamed at them.

The hyena-man reappeared behind them and lunged forward, claws slashing across Draco's back. "No!" Harry screamed. The Slytherin stumbled partially down the slope from the force and pain, voice caught in his throat from shock. He quickly turned to face the onslaught, wand out and shaking from adrenaline and fear. Harry cast the blasting curse, but it dodged neatly aside. It pivoted to face Harry, and both Draco and Harry tried to hex it but it disappeared. It reappeared almost nose-to-nose with Harry and grabbed him by the throat before he could react. It pinned Harry to a tree by his throat and _squeezed_, laughing in that disturbingly other-worldly way hyenas have. Harry felt his vision swimming when he heard "Incarcerous!" The hand suddenly released him, and the creature was completely bound and fallen to the ground. It disappeared, leaving the conjured ropes limp in the grass.

Harry was gasping for breath. He looked up at Draco and whispered, "Good shot."

Draco prickled at this. _Good shot, except for the part where it was useless and now the thing got away._ "Fuck you, it should have bound his magic as well as his limbs-"

"No, I meant it," Harry croaked quickly, his voice box bruised. "You were fast."

Draco huffed. Speed and aim meant nothing when you chose the wrong spell. Draco cursed himself for screwing it up.

The hyena-man reappeared laying flat to the ground behind Draco, grabbed the boy's ankle and jerked it back. Draco fell face first, barely breaking his fall with his hands in time. The beast, laughing manically, reared over him with both arms brought up to slash down and maul when Harry cast "Furnunculus!" At the same time, Draco twisted around and cast "Diffindo!"

Both curses hit, and the creature howled as crimson pussing boils billowed over its skin and long welts ripped across its muzzle.

As fast as thought, the hyena-man disappeared and reappeared in mid-leap at a right angle to Harry, its powerful jaws snapping tight on his wand-arm. Draco scrambled to his feet. Harry screamed, and the beast shook its head like a dog until –_crack!_– his wrist gave way and Harry dropped his wand. It released Harry gleefully, wanting a fresh attack now that its victim was unarmed. "Reducto!" Draco yelled, but the creature had disappeared before Draco even finished the word. Immediately, it reappeared behind the helpless Gryffindor who was frantically scanning the dark forest ground for his wand.

Draco swallowed hard and forced himself to wait. The only times they ever hit this thing was when it was occupied by captured prey. It won't exert a killing strike yet—it enjoyed playing. Draco didn't have to wait long; the monster lunged forward and sunk its teeth into Harry's shoulder. The boy screamed and fell to his knees; the beast stayed locked on him. _Careful; if you freeze him, it will hurt Potter more to separate them. If you wound him, he'll disappear again… _"Confundus!" Draco cast on the hybrid. It slowly raised its head, licking its bloody lips thoughtfully, eyes glazed and puzzled. "Petrificus Totalus!" The creature froze and toppled to the ground.

Seeing his wand, Harry snatched it and forced himself to his feet, stepping away from the monster. "You saw it, why didn't you warn me?!" Harry growled in pain and anger. He gingerly touched the fingers of his uninjured hand to the shoulder wound. He'd been a fool to believe they could work together, even for a moment.

Draco walked towards him. "Because it would have disappeared. Let me see," he nodded at Harry's shoulder.

"No." Harry said stubbornly, covering it a little more.

"Is it dead?" Came a warbly voice from the clearing. Both students turned to look at the green teenager.

"No," Draco called back. "But it's safely incapacitated. We'll come help you in a moment…" Then in a lower voice to Harry, he said, "C'mon. Let's just heal each other quickly and help her."

"I can do it myself. If you can't, that's your problem," Harry retorted. That fucker used him, _used him_ as bait. Harry hoped his back was shredded and filled him with sheer agony, and that the wounds were already infected and would torment him for months, leaving him hideous and in pain, the stench of infection so great that he lost all his friends and Pansy Parkinson dumped his sorry ass-

Harry fumbled with his wand in his non-dominant hand. He thought about how it was impossible for him to write properly with his left hand, and hoped it wasn't the same for magic. He had a flashback to the consequences of Lockhart's incompetence, but his pride made him brush the memory aside. He awkwardly aimed his wand at his right wrist. "Episkey!" But instead of reforming the bone in alignment, it grew outwards and punctured out of his skin. Harry nearly fainted.

"Reparifors!" Draco cast quickly. The bone reversed back into its original broken condition, the skin smooth once more. Harry cradled his hand against his chest protectively. He was actually queasy from the pain, and it took all his willpower not to mewl from the hurt shooting and throbbing in his arm. He glared hatefully at Malfoy.

Draco sighed in frustration. "Look. If we kept fighting it for much longer, it was going to win. I had to strike while it still wanted to play with us, and not when it wanted us dead." He took a step closer to Harry and held out his hand. "Give me your arm."

Reluctantly, Harry held out his arm. His eyes were full of the contempt and suspicion of a cat who had been sprayed with water. Draco held Harry's arm still, and carefully chose the best point to aim for. "Brackium redintegro," he said clearly. _Snap! Snap!_ Harry gasped as he felt the bones in his arm twang back into alignment and fuse together seamlessly. He was impressed. Draco, pleased with his work, smiled smugly. "Now that you've got your wand arm back, kindly fix my back. And don't use Episkey, it's too general and will likely leave scars." Draco unclasped his cloak and uncharacteristically let it fall to the ground. _His back must be a lot more painful than he's letting on if he's not freaking out over his stupid, rich clothes_. Harry began feeling immensely guilty for his earlier line of thoughts.

The Slytherin stripped off his shirt, his shoulder movements limited and carefully keeping the fabric from brushing his skin. His face remained neutral despite his actions.

Harry stepped around to examine and saw four gashes, one moderate and the other three deep gouges of exposed meat. "Jesus, Malfoy," Harry muttered. "I can't believe you're not making a bigger fuss about these…"

Draco gave a short laugh. "I only make a fuss if I think it'll get me something. Hurry up."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that, but felt his anger melting away. "If you don't want me to use Episkey, what should I use?"

"Oh, for the sake of the gods Potter…" Draco swore and turned back to face him. "Okay," he said more patiently, raising his wand to chest level and pointed at the sky. "Straight up, then slowly angle down to your target's beginning," Draco began, demonstrating the wand movement as he explained. Harry copied him. "Draw along the lines as you recite _Vulnera Sanentur."_

"Okay…Vulnera Sanentur…"

"No. _Vulnera Sanentur_. You need to half-sing it or it won't work."

Harry smiled, remembering Hermione correcting Ron's levitation spell in Year One and thinking how similar this moment was. He felt horribly self-conscious but sang it.

"Good. You might have to repeat it if it's as bad as it feels," Draco said with a self-deprecating smirk. "Or if you fuck it up," he added. Harry made a face at him. Draco clamped down on his nervousness and doubt, and instead offered his back freely to Harry.

He refused to be in pain when it could be fixed.

Harry moved as instructed, and cast the spell. Harry was fascinated to watch webs of new pale skin criss cross over the claw marks, knitting together the wounds. When the movement ceased but the wounds still looked angry, Harry cast again. This time they sealed completely, the boy's back appearing unmarred. Draco sighed in relief and knelt to pick up his shirt and cloak. He scowled at the dirt and cast a general cleaning charm, a sanitizing charm, a charm to reject any insects that may have crawled on, a charm to alter its smell, a charm to smooth out the wrinkles, and finally _reparo_ to mend the slash marks. Harry snorted as Draco's prissiness returned full blast.

"Mind healing my shoulder now?" Harry drawled.

Draco flushed. He had almost forgotten.

"Well then, undo your shirt."

Harry opened enough buttons to pull the shirt off his shoulder. Draco winced when he saw it. Dark purple bruising clamped around the main muscle, swollen and consuming. There were four puncture wounds—not neat breaks in the skin, but a set of dull, crushing obtrusions.

_I will not feel guilty,_ he chanted silently to himself. _I will not. This may be my fault, but worse fates would have been my fault if I'd shied away from the opportunity to stop that creature. I will not feel guilty for doing what had to be done. I won't._

Draco cast several layers of spells to heal him, perhaps spending more time than necessary making sure to banish pain and weariness. Wordlessly, he began to work on the bruising around Potter's neck, bright purple spots where fingers choked him. He hesitated when he came to the mark that most damaged his voicebox. "I…don't feel comfortable trying to heal this," he said bluntly. "I'm not trained, and the voice is much more complicated than a broken bone. Can you wait for McGonagall to fix it?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, surprised at Draco's care. His shoulder felt like new. He wondered briefly if Malfoy had any interest in becoming a Healer. "Thanks," he added.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Let's go," he said, motioning towards the green youth waiting for them.

Harry looked back at the fallen hyena-man. It was stock frozen, like a toy soldier, but its eyes bore furiously, unblinkingly, into Draco. "What about him?"

Draco glanced at the creature and involuntarily shivered. "What about it?" He asked gruffly.

Harry looked up at Draco. "…are we just going to leave him there? He's completely vulnerable. What if something comes after him? It seems….unsporting, somehow."

Draco laughed. "You're actually serious, aren't you?" He murmured incredulously. _Damn bleeding-heart Gryffindor. _ And yet there was something charming about his sense of honour extending to his enemy… "Look. The spell wears off after a few hours. Until then, the stars will decide what protection it deserves."

"That's not good enough. _Mobilicorpus_," Harry cast. The frozen hybrid jerkily rose in the air. Harry floated it to nestle high in the trees, its body cradled by thick branches.

"There. Out of reach of most predators. And it doesn't matter if he can't climb, because he'll just disappear his way to where ever he wants to be."

"Next you'll be conjuring a blanket in case it gets a chill…" Draco joked.

Harry grinned at him and silently cast a spell to clean the blood off his shirt as he retorted, "Better than you conjuring one. We'd be here half the night with you attempting to recreate some elite design, and casting eight million charms to make it—I don't know, sparkle, or smell good, or whatever it is you do."

Draco shot him a cocky grin. "You think I smell good, Potter?"

Harry laughed. "No, *you* think you smell good. I swear, you're more vain than Lockhart." He started walking down the slope, Draco following alongside him.

"It's not vanity when the world thinks I'm beautiful," Draco said matter of factly. "And really, who am I to fly in the face of public opinion?"

"Are you honestly that conceited?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'realistic'."

"Um, no, it's really not. More like 'deluded'."

They bickered until they approached the youth.

He—no, wait, definitely 'she'—laid still on her belly, her left knee at a horrible angle. "My heroes," she beamed at them despite the pain in her eyes. "I can't believe someone actually came for me…"

"I'm glad we heard you," Harry said solemnly. "Um…what are you? I mean, would human healing spells work for you?"

She—oh, damnit, now he distinctly looked like a boy—he shook his head. "No, they wouldn't. I'm a dryad. The best way to heal me is to get me back to my tree."

"Where's that?" Draco asked. Harry was still stuck on 'dryad'.

"Nearby," he said. "About a wind-rattle east."

Draco nodded. 'East' and 'nearby' would have to suffice; he had no idea how far 'wind-rattle' meant. He glanced at Potter and saw the same furrowed, blank look the boy usually had in Potions.

Harry turned to look at Draco with exaggerated expectancy. Draco saw this, and muttered, "What, you want me to translate?! I don't know."

Harry sighed. "Okay, we'll get you there," Harry reassured the dryad.

Ignoring Harry entirely, Draco asked the boy, "What pronoun do you prefer?"

"Malfoy!" Harry sputtered. "You can't just _ask_ someone-"

"It's alright," the boy defended. He turned his face back to Draco and answered, "I shift, and so can the pronouns. Use whatever you feel reflects me in the moment you're talking about me."

Draco nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "I'm going to levitate you, and we'll need your help with directions," he explained as he extended his wand arm. The dryad smiled, trusting so completely. It irritated Draco a little; any time a stranger raises a weapon to you, is a time for readiness. He cast the charm, and in his free right hand cast the little fire ball again.

"We begin through there," the youth flicked her finger and an assortment of dried leaves rose from the ground and scuttled in the air between two trees, vaguely eastbound.

"I'll go ahead, in case there's trouble," Harry offered.

"If by "trouble" you mean anything that directly affects us, and not searching for things to confront…then okay."

The youth preened at Draco. "You are a true leader, taking command and teaching him all the while…"

Harry's jaw dropped. Draco beamed. "You hear that Potter? I'm your leader!"

"You are not even remotely my leader!" Harry blustered. "You didn't even want to rescue her in the first place!" The dryad looked confused.

"Look what you've done," Draco admonished. "Are you really so petty that you would destroy her confidence in us just to satisfy your ego?"

As Harry looked over at the dryad, his outrage dwindled and he grew embarrassed. "I…didn't think of it that way."

"Great. Now apologize to her, and apologize to your leader."

It was a grueling hour before they reached the tree. The dryad smiled at both wizards, tired but happy. "I thank you, not only for your brave heroics in saving me from the Gnoll, not only for securing my safe transport home, but for your clever antics to bring me cheer and distraction from my pain."

Harry felt warm for having helped, and mildly embarrassed to be given such gratitude for saving her, because he viewed it as something he couldn't have not done. Greater embarrassment roiled within him for the comment about his constant arguing with Malfoy. He should have done better, forced himself to be more civil. Somehow. Draco, on the other hand, had never in his life been called a hero. The sincerity of the dryad was something he tucked away in a private corner of his heart, and he thought to himself that he would need to consider vialing the night's memories for a pensieve.

Draco gently lowered the woodland nymph against the trunk of his tree. The dryad's smile broadened, his whole face relaxing as the tree began to absorb her into it. "I'll never forget you," she cooed, voice sounding like sap gliding through the grooves of bark. Her skin flattened from lime green to the dry mottled brown of the tree, and she—he—looked so at peace. With only his face remaining, like an oversized knot in the trunk, he suddenly looked horribly alarmed. "No! Watch—" and he was gone.

Before either wizard could react, first Draco then Harry felt fangs strike their ankles.

Draco fell to his knees, hard. He felt the pressure of his landing but not the pain; his vision blurred and there was a terrible ringing in his ears. He could vaguely hear the distorted sound of his own name – Potter calling out to him. Dizziness like a tidal wave roared and swallowed him, and he closed his eyes.

Harry felt the shrieking numbness overtaking his body; like Novocain at the dentist, he knew there was pain, but the non-feeling was so bold that he felt swollen all over. He saw Draco fall to his knees, and the sight injected severe vertigo into him. "Malfoy!" he yelled, surprised to barely hear himself. He closed his eyes, battling the visions of a swirling world. When he heard no response, he dared to crack his eyes open for a flash. The Slytherin was still kneeling.

Draco tried to harness his panic into remembering what type of venoms could cause the symptoms he was experiencing. But—he found that every time he tried to reach for the rote memories…he couldn't. It was like the memories stood stacked on a table just out of reach…and he could see them, he knew they were there…but he just…couldn't…reach them. Confusion flooded him, and slowly the panic began to ease back into calm as his mind found it difficult to hold any thought or emotion still for long.

Harry realized he was still gripping his wand. He took a deep breath and raised his wand high to send red sparks…But the moment he tried to cast, it was like the sparks flew inward instead, and the electricity burned through the numbness. Harry screamed and stumbled, the dizziness overpowering him as he fell to the forest floor. He could feel his mind begin to blank. _No._ Harry grit his teeth, and blindly reached out, seeking Draco.

Draco concentrated on his breathing, trying to diffuse the vertigo. He had his wand. Best not to use it when the mind is affected. Or…or something happened. Inhale. The thing that bit him…where was it? He opened his eyes, and through the stubby grass, lay a black serpent with white eyes and a white tail-tip. It was staring at them. Exhale. "Potter?" he said, weak and shakey. A half formed thought…he could almost taste it. He closed his eyes. "Potter…" he said a little stronger. With great mental exertion, he clasped the idea in a single word. He whispered, "Parseltongue." Weariness bore through him, and he slumped down in the grass. He lost consciousness.

Harry heard Draco's voice, but couldn't make out what he was saying. He reached toward the sound, flashed open his eyes for a moment, and then found the boy's arm. He felt a sick, lurching sensation in his stomach, almost kin to the feeling of apparition…the world twirled around him, and he felt faint. _My fault_. He didn't know if the poison was deadly, but he damn well knew the forest was. Without magic, without escape, Harry did the last thing he could to try and protect Malfoy, as amends for failing him when he had begged to just do their detention like they were supposed to: he laid on top of the boy, covering as much of his body with his own as he could in his delirium. He opened his eyes once more, and saw a white snake with black eyes and a black tail-tip staring at them from the grass. _Fuck you too,_ Harry thought as the world slipped away.

The dryad, healing, could not emerge from her tree, and watched as her saviours were stricken down by the Switch. She whistled, a sound like the dry rustle of leaves, and waited for the spiders. She would tell them what happened, and beg for intervention, for she knew the spiders kept close alliance with the Grounds Keeper. If they could send a message to him, if they could lead him here…

She watched as the dark haired boy protected his leader with his own body. She hoped there would be no death tonight. The Switch watched its prey lose consciousness, as it inverted black into white across its scales.

It was done.


	2. A Brand New Day

Draco woke up in a hospital bed. Disoriented, he tried to remember how he got there, but couldn't. He sat up and at noticing how blurry his vision remained, rubbed his eyes vigorously. His sight did not clear. His ankle throbbed, and he sleepily gave an unintentional moan. His eyes snapped open at the sound of his own voice, for it was not his voice. He looked down at himself: Gryffindor uniform. With growing shock, he looked to the bed next to him—

—and saw his body, still unconscious.

_What…_His pulse started racing.He stood up—balance, slightly different, carried more in the pads of the feet than the heels—he went to the small medic mirror above the wash basin, and Harry's eyes confronted him.

_This can't be. _He rushed back to his bed, and put on Harry's glasses. His sight clicked into focus. _Fuck._ He spun to look at his body, laying peaceful and unknowing in its bed.

_I'm in Harry's body._ The thought squirmed in his mind. He stared into his hands: heavily calloused, lower-class hands. Skin tanned, nails bitten and ragged, a strange scar carved into the left: "I must not tell lies". _Potter has some serious issues._

The last thing he remembered was being bitten, and passing out in the Forest. _How did we get here? How long have I been unconscious?_ He ran the back of his hand along the edge of the hospital bed, and warm orange writing told him it was early morning the next day. _Which means….it's likely that no one knows exactly what's happened._ With a feral grin, Draco put Harry's shoes back on, and strut out of the hospital wing.

_Time to visit Gryffindor House._

Unfortunately, the Fat Lady wasn't nearly as helpful to Potter's celebrity as Draco had imagined. He tried again for a charming grin, unsure how it looked on his new face, and said, "Malfoy hit me with a Confundus. Madam Pomfrey only just released me, but I'm embarrassed to say that I don't remember the password. I'm so exhausted, could you please…?"

She raised a delicate eyebrow and pursed her lips. "I am not still drying, you know. I have been in this castle long enough to know a thing or two about student tricks. The Polyjuice potion, for example…"

Draco reminded himself to remain patient, and kindly said to her, "My lady, were you to do this favour for me, I would return it. I believe it's been an age since Filch has polished your framework. Wouldn't it feel nice to be given a deep clean, to enhance your beautiful self…?"

She snorted and laughed merrily. "You are not Harry Potter."

Before Draco could argue, two fifth year Gryffindor girls opened the portrait while exiting and, seeing "Harry Potter", giggled and held it open for him. With a triumphant gleam in his eye, he thanked them and entered, the Fat Lady steaming behind him.

He stood inside the Gryffindor common room, and was instantly nervous. Everything was…so loud. There was constant bustle over games, last minute homework revision, or pre-breakfast chatter.

"_There_ you are!" Hermione said, hugging him. Draco's shoulders went rigid, and he had to force himself to give her a pat on the back in return. He only let very select people touch him; Hermione Granger was never meant to be on that list. "You promised you'd use your button when you finished detention!"

_An alert mechanism? Hm…_

"I've been worried sick! I can't believe you're only just getting in now. What happened?"

Draco did not have the time or the inclination to bother with Hermione. "Gee, Hermione," he said in his best impersonation of regretful-Potter. "I'm really tired. I just wanna go to my dorm and get a change of clothes, yah? We'll talk more later." Pausing a moment, he added with syrupy sincerity, "I promise."

She was giving him the fish eye. Why did no one believe his Potter impressions?! That's _exactly_ how the git sounded all the time.

Draco glanced about the commons for the downstairs entrances, and realized that Gryffin-dorms went upstairs instead. _Of course they did. Prats. _ Taking a gamble that the boys dorms were on the left like in Slytherin, Draco strutted towards the staircase. As he was able to walk up, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least the stairs didn't turn into solid wall when the wrong sex tried to—

"Harry, is everything alright?"

Draco yelped and leapt in the air, spinning around to see that Hermione had followed him. Followed him! Up the boys stairs! _Well, well…Godric, you wicked man._ Salazaar had prevented either sex to enter the opposite dorms, to prevent the making of bastards. Clearly, Godric had other inclinations.

"Uh…yeah. You just startled me."

"I mean, in general. You seem…off."

Draco gave a slow, languid smile. An idea occurred to him: how to get rid of her, and how to make Potter's life oh-so-much more difficult. "You caught me, Hermione. I can't hold it in any longer."

"Hold what in?" She asked, concern in her eyes.

Draco took a step down so he shared the stones with Hermione. "I'm in love with you," he said in a low, husky voice, and was pleased to discover that Harry could do a very sexy husky voice.

Hermione, shrewd, worried, was searching his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she whispered. "Just tell me what's really wrong."

"Love isn't wrong," Draco said, thrilling at her confusion and pain.

"Harry…don't. You know I don't feel that way—and you can't feel that way—"

"Why not?" He moved closer to her. She backed away from him.

"You know how I feel…about…you know." She finished lamely.

_I knew it, she's still lovestruck over Viktor._ "Forget about what's-his-name," Draco said, hedging his bets.

"He's your best friend!" She said hotly.

_Ahh. The Weasel. Damn, she's aiming low._ "Yes well…I'm sure he would understand. You know he'll never love you like I do." _If I really want to drive her away…_ "Come on, Hermione," _…I'll have to resort to a Gryffindor big dramatic gesture…_ "-Say you'll give 'us' a chance." And like a striking serpent, he leaned forward and kissed her.

She pulled away and pushed him. He stumbled on the stair at his heels and barely caught himself before falling. "Don't you _dare_ do that again! I can't believe, you'd risk our friendship…Ron's friendship…everything we've…oh, Harry, what have you done…?" With tears in her eyes, she fled the hall.

Draco wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Despite having just kissed a mudblood, and a straight-girl for that matter, that had been delightfully fun.

_Now to go search through Potter's things._

When Draco entered the Sixth Year boys dorms, he was surprised at the communal feel of the room. The beds were sectioned off by scarlet curtains, their mattress space the only privacy afforded to each student. Slytherin would have rioted at these conditions. How were you supposed to have alone time? How were your things safe and sacred? Every boy's trunks were openly displayed at the foot or sides of each bed, for anyone to look at. It was obscene. Draco also wondered if the House Elves had something against Gryffindor House; the beds were still a mess. In Slytherin, elves Apparated to make your bed the instant your feet hit the floor. There was only one neatly made bed—a bed that had not been slept in. Grinning, Draco began to saunter over to it, correctly assuming it must be Harry's.

"Oi! 'Arry!" Ron called out to him, his mouth wrapped around a toothbrush and foaming. Draco had to resist the urge to comment on how many of his family members had handed down that instrument before he finally got to use it.

"Hey Ron," he answered, smiling at the boy while casually flipping open Potter's trunk. It was like a deranged Niffler had a hard-on for garbage. Tossing some crumpled parchment and chocolate frog cards to the floor, Draco carefully removed a chunk of broken glass. _Why on earth was he keeping this?! _He set it aside. There was a grimy, grey sock that looked like it could fit his head, black stitched initials reading "D.D." on the elasticized hem. It was so repulsive that he wondered if it was a Portkey. He decided not to touch it.

"What happened last night?! Hermione nearly had kittens." Ron had finished brushing his teeth and invited himself over, plopping down onto Harry's bed. Draco suppressed a sneer.

"Oh, I had to go save something helpless. You know how I am."

Ron nodded, brow furrowed. "You alright?" He asked, confused at his best friend's self-mocking tone.

"Oh, I'm fine," Draco said. He couldn't believe that even the Weasel seemed to doubt. "Sorry you got stuck handling Hermione," he added, prompting Ron to go into a diatribe of what he had to put up with. _Perfect._ He pulled out thick, creamy parchment—it had been folded many times into a square, like a map. _Interesting,_ he thought: _it's blank. But this paper is special. Expensive. Used for containment._ He pulled out his wand, and realized it was Harry's wand. Of course. He hesitated; would the wand respond to him? Instead of risking a full spell that might indict him, he simply tapped the wand against the parchment. It should normally request a password if Harry had already set it up – and instead, a conversation rippled across the paper. _Messer Prongs would like to compliment you on the stolen face you've chosen, for it is most handsome; but we know it is stolen, you coward. Messer Moony recommends you return this parchment, and this face, to their rightful owner at once. Messer Wormtail agrees with Messers Prongs and Moony, and would like to add that –_

Wait. _Wormtail? _His stomach flipped. This was a Death Eater object. But…it claimed that the rightful owner was the same person whose face he had stolen. How could Harry be the rightful owner of a Death Eater object? Was this a list of traitors?

Draco quickly put the parchment in his back trouser pocket, heart beating rapidly. If he could deliver proof of traitors to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, maybe he could finally secure the Dark Lord's trust in his family. Maybe it would lend safety to his parents.

He had to get out of there. He had to put the parchment someplace where—

The dormitory doors flew open, and Dumbledore entered the room. Several curious and bold Gryffindor faces peered from behind him, having followed to see what on earth could warrant a visit from the Headmaster.

"Mr. Malfoy, I presume?" Dumbledore looked down at Draco—_could that be amusement in his eyes? _Draco wondered.

Draco stood, spreading his hands wide in innocence. "Since I'm technically a Gryffindor at this moment, I believe any point deduction should reflect that…"

"You are no more a Gryffindor than any costume transforms the wearer."

"Wait—_Malfoy?!"_ Ron sputtered.

"Do try to keep up," Draco drawled. He broke into an uncharacteristic grin at hearing Harry's voice use his words—_he can sound so sassy…_

"That will be quite enough," Dumbledore admonished. "Come with me, Mr. Malfoy."

"Then where's the real Harry? What did you do to him, Malfoy?!" Ron demanded.

"Mr. Potter is fine," Dumbledore said. "I trust you did no irreparable damage while roaming about the Tower?" he asked Draco.

"Nothing…irreparable." Draco admitted, and with a wicked grin to Ron, he added, "Though you may want to check on Granger."

While Ron sputtered and swore, the Headmaster paused and looked Draco in the eye, twinkle suddenly gone from his own. _He's an Occlumens! _ Draco realized, but too late…trying to counter Occlumency requires great connection between mind and magic, and his magic was not his own. It was like trying to draw with his foot: he couldn't get a proper grip, he clumsily tried to harness his magic but it was an alien untrained force to his mind.

Dumbledore smiled. "Miss Granger is fine, Mr. Weasley, though I believe she would deeply appreciate an explanation at once."

*

As the Headmaster led Draco through the Hogwarts halls, Draco inwardly pouted that the old man was refusing conversation. _I bet he would have chatted up his precious Potter,_ he fumed. _Why am I so dismissable?_

The stairway gave a crackle as it began to swing to the right, altering their course. "I'm afraid not," Dumbledore told it, pressing the tip of his wand into the rail. The stairs halted, and reverted to their original position.

"Sir, how did you do that?"

"There are many advantages to being me," he said simply.

They continued their brisk pace, when Draco stopped silently whining to himself and realized they weren't headed for the infirmary.

He physically stopped when it dawned on him.

They were almost at Dumbledore's office.

"Only the stairways move, so you'll have to keep walking while using the halls," Dumbledore chided.

Draco felt his heart quicken. Harry's heart. He had never been to the Headmaster's office. Not many students had. Any rule breakers typically had to report to their Head of House, or serve detention with the professor ordering it. _Why aren't we returning to Madam Pomfrey?_ His mind started racing, conjuring elaborate possibilities in which he was expelled from Hogwarts. _Surely, a sneak into a different House isn't cause for expulsion…_ he tried to logically calm himself, but Dumbledore's time was not something doled out for normal infractions.

As they entered, Draco was mesmerized by the sight of Fawkes in his gilded cage. A phoenix, being a symbol of the team fighting against the Dark Lord, was a creature he was forbidden to see or learn about…but he read about them anyway, and he always secretly wished to meet one. To regenerate oneself, to heal anyone with its tears, the great and rare power in every single feather and from every flame and ash…This creature was elegant, resilient, the epitome of self-reliance, hard won loyalty, beauty and raw power…This was a Slytherin creature.

Draco almost forgot his anxiety at the sight of the bird. That's why he didn't notice Harry until the boy had stormed right in front of him and grabbed him by his cloak.

"What were you thinking?! I was bloody-well ready to die protecting you, and the minute you wake up you use my body to snoop around like a dog?! What is _wrong_ with you?!"

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore said, kindly, unconcerned. A staccato flick of his wand and both boys were pushed apart from one another and pushed down into chairs.

Dumbledore swept behind his desk and took a seat. "Lemon drop?" He offered a candy dish to both boys.

Harry ignored the gesture entirely and yelled at Draco, "What did you do?!"

"Perhaps just some tea…" the Headmaster continued, wandlessly levitating a teapot to pour two cups of something steaming, blue, and vaguely smelling like –Draco tried to pinpoint the scent…

_Like his mother._

"An anxiety draught? Really? Do you typically dose your students, or is this something special?" Draco snorted.

"Well, I would have preferred if you'd taken the candy. Its effects are less likely to slow the mind…But either way, I think you boys would desire a little something to keep the news less devastating."

Immediately, both students stopped scowling at each other and turned to look at Dumbledore.

"What do you mean, less devastating?" Harry asked.

"Maybe some Firewhiskey would do the trick, you know, if you really want to give a tonic to ease the nerves…"

Dumbledore smiled at Draco.

"What do you mean. Less. Devastating." Harry repeated, impatient and irritated at Draco's distracting antics.

Dumbledore sat in silence, cooling regarding both boys, his long fingers steepling together. "You have been afflicted with the bite of The Switch," he began. "It's a serpent, long believed to be extinct."

"Well, obviously, it's not," Harry growled.

"Indeed," Dumbledore acquiesced. "Once in its lifetime, The Switch will be compelled to deliver its namesake bite: to taste the blood of its two chosen, and to transfer their minds. In doing so, it also switches: its colouring inverts, its sex inverts, and its age inverts. That is to say, it begins to age backwards, becoming younger and younger, until it becomes nothing more than an empty egg, thus dying."

"The only way to reverse the transfer of the afflicted, is to capture the same Switch who bit them, extract its venom and skin shedding, and create a potion each must drink."

Dumbledore looked at the boys for a long time. "I'm afraid, locating a tiny snake in the Forbidden Forest will be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles." He lowered his eyes. "It may not be found. Or, it may die before we can find it. If it dies, the cure dies with it."

Draco felt like a brick had fallen into his stomach.

Harry started giggling.

"This isn't funny!" Draco seethed, furious beyond anything he had ever felt.

"I'm imagining the look on your father's face-" and Harry started laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face.

"I don't believe we ought to inform anyone's guardians," Dumbledore said delicately. "Harry my boy, can you imagine how your own family would react?"

That sobered him up, and Harry quieted quickly.

"Don't tell them?" Draco repeated incredulously. "I'm fairly certain they'll notice," he drawled. "I know muggles are dim, but the sight of my gorgeous body when they're expecting to see Harry's skeletal vagrant form ought to tip them off that something is amiss."

"I'm not 'skeletal'," Harry shot back.

"Potter, you're a skinny little runt. If it weren't for your adam's apple, you'd have no physique at all."

"Bitch all you want Malfoy, that body is all yours now."

"Gentlemen!" Dumbledore interrupted. "Please. I know this is an extremely unusual case. But I believe it is in the best interest of the safety of Mr. Malfoy, and in maintaining the tenuous arrangement with the Dursleys, to keep them uninformed at this time. We will have search parties, every day and every night, trying to locate the Switch. We still have a chance of reversing this whole situation." He paused. "But in the meantime…I believe this should remain a Hogwarts Secret."

"The last Headmaster to cast a Hogwarts Secret was nearly two centuries ago!" Draco said, shocked.

"Wait, what's a Hogwarts secret?"

"Oh my gods. How have you possibly gotten to sixth year without reading Hogwarts: A History?"

Harry flushed, surprised to find himself embarrassed, when every time Hermione had given him the same reprimand he just rolled his eyes in blasé annoyance. _What did he care what Malfoy thought?_

"I will explain at breakfast, Harry. I'm sure there are many students who will not remember their readings, or have not had the chance to read that particular passage." He stood up from the desk.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. What happens now?" Harry demanded.

"Now we go to the Great Hall. It's time for breakfast. And I daresay, all this early-morning excitement has left me famished."

"Wait!" Harry stood up, his now silver eyes wide. "I'm still in Draco's body. I can't—I can't go down there!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to, my boy. Oh! One thing may make matters a little easier to swallow." The Headmaster flourished his wand, and the Slytherin robes Harry wore changed to Gryffindor, and Draco's Gryffindor robes changed into Slytherin. Draco looked at Harry, and scowled at the sight of himself in scarlet and gold. Disgusting. And utterly tacky with his pale skin and platinum hair. Harry looked nauseated to see his own body in the serpent colours, the green of his eyes looking perfectly at home with the emerald robes. "Excellent! Off we go!"

And with that, Dumbledore lead both protesting boys towards the Great Hall.


	3. Hogwarts Secret

The Great Hall erupted when Harry and Draco walked in, wearing opposite House Colours to what the school expected of them. Accusations and questions alike were shot like arrows, puncturing the air, a swarm of lead-tipped words aimed against the unknown.

Harry nervously approached his friends, and gave a tiny smile. "Hey guys," he said.

"Go to hell, Malfoy," Ginny said, wand pointed aggressively at him. Hermione flushed a furious red.

"I'm not Malfoy," Harry quickly corrected, seeing both girls on the edge of cursing him.

"Blimey, Harry, is that you?" Ron asked, his heart knowing the answer before his mind as he automatically moved aside for his friend.

"Yeah," Harry said in Draco's light scoff. It embarrassed him, that his voice came out so superior. "Thanks," he added, softer, gratefully sitting next to Ron. Gryffindor protests lit like firecrackers along the table.

"Oh, MY GOD. Draco Malfoy. At our table. Ima gonna hurl."

Harry felt his lip curl unconsciously as he glared at the seventh year girl.

"Don't listen to them, Harry," Hermione said, uncomfortably. "And don't do that thing with your mouth, it's not you."

"What thing?"

But the roar of the Slytherin table drowned out the rest of the school, as Draco, appearing to be Harry Potter in full Slytherin regalia, sat down for breakfast with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Silence!" Dumbledore commanded, standing at the podium generally reserved for the opening and closing feasts. The students fell silent; Dumbledore gave a tiny glare over his shoulder at Professor Trelawny, whose Irish Coffee kept her inquisitive gossiping fuelled despite her surroundings. A deeply patient Professor Sprout gave her hand a squeeze, and, blinking several times, Professor Trelawny quieted and drank some more coffee.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said in a chipper voice. "As you may have noticed, there appears to be something of a role reversal happening today among two of our better-known sixth year boys."

"They have been afflicted by a creature known as The Switch, thought to be extinct, but hiding in our treasure-trove of a forest." He smiled, and adjusted his half-moon glasses. "Now, Mr. Potter is in the body of Draco Malfoy, and Mr. Malfoy is in the body of Harry Potter."

Shock rippled through the school, as students and professors alike instantly started questioning: What did this mean for the "The Chosen One"? Was the prophecy nullified? Did it simply follow Harry's mind and soul, or did Draco transmute both fate and body? Some of the Slytherins were staring at Draco, greed in their eyes, whispering among potential allies how they would be rewarded if they delivered him to their parents.

"As you all know, these are dangerous times. Knowledge of Mr. Malfoy's condition beyond the safety of Hogwarts could put his life to risk. Therefore, I must ask you all to forgive me."

And with that, a blinding white light filled the room with a thunderous clap. It cleared as quickly as it came. Harry looked around, and noticed that everyone had a fine dusting of metallic gold glitter coating their lips and hands.

"What you see is the physical settling of the rule 'silence is golden'. Don't be alarmed, it will pass in moments.

"I have enacted an ancient curse—and indeed, it is a curse, upon every soul in this castle. Ghosts and house-elves included. It is called the Hogwarts Secret."

Dark, outraged muttering grew in pockets of the student body.

"For those of you who don't know: the Hogwarts Secret can only be cast by the Headmaster, and lasts one school year. Anyone who attempts to convey information about Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy having switched bodies, will find themselves unable to do so. You shall not speak it, nor write it, nor draw it. If you try, you will find yourself reciting a remarkable line of gibberish. It's a rather fun party game. You can, however, discuss it among yourselves; but should anyone outside this school be within range of your conversation, your words will derail to fanciful talks of who-knows-what."

"This is Dark magic," Hermione gritted, unsure how she felt about the situation.

"It can't be legal," Ginny agreed. "Do you think this means the Order won't even know?" she asked quietly.

"I bet Dumbledore isn't bound to it like we are," Ron said thoughtfully, touching his lips self-consciously. "He could probably tell them."

Draco sat silent, running a tally of questions and checks in his mind. _Dumbledore wouldn't only do this on my behalf, there has to be something in it for his champion. He mentioned a tenuous arrangement with the muggles…what on earth could that be about?_

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Crabbe's boisterous questions. "Draco, what in all of Hades has happened?!"

"You're right handed now," Goyle remarked quietly. Draco stared down at his hand in amazement—he hadn't even noticed his right hand automatically steering his fork through his food. It made his stomach turn slightly, how different this body was, how different everything was…

"The Switch is a snake," Draco said, choosing to answer Crabbe rather than comment on Goyle's observation. "It's imbibed with the power to transfer one mind to another body. It forces two people to switch…" he couldn't finish. He didn't want to think about the likelihood of recovering his own body, and he didn't want to be surrounded by a betting pool of his peers wagering his chances.

Blaise reached across the table and boldly took his hand. Draco held his breath at his boyfriend's touch. It made him remarkably happy, that Blaise would dare while he was in this body…but it made him equally uncomfortable. His boyfriend was touching Potter.

"Look at me," Blaise said quietly. Draco forced himself to look up. "It'll be alright. How long does this last?"

Draco released his breath, and whispered, "Until we find the snake."

Goyle gave a small smile. "You're lucky this happened with Potter."

Draco glared hotly at his friend, ready to spit sparks, when Goyle continued: "Every resource at Bumblesnore's disposal will be put to use."

"Goyle's right," Blaise said. "That snake will be captured before you know it."

"It better be," Crabbe said. "Because the longer you're in that body and don't turn it over to you-know-who, the worse it'll be for all of us."

At the end of breakfast, one of the floating candles bobbed delicately down from its ceiling position to dip a small bow to Harry, causing white wax to pool on the table. The candle retreated high above them once more, and Harry realized the wax spelled out: _Return to my office once you've finished breakfast. –Dumbledore._ He leaned back to get a view of the Slytherin table, and saw himself—_Draco-_ scowling at the table as a second white candle rose back to the ceiling.

"Looks like Dumbledore wants you both to meet him," Ginny said. Harry nodded. "He must have a plan to change you back."

"Yeah, I think it involves a lot of finger-crossing," Harry said.

Ginny gave Harry's shoulder a playful swat, and he grinned at her. "Whoa," she said. "I don't think I've ever seen Malfoy actually smile. It's…kinda hot. And disturbing."

"Never, ever say that first part again," Ron growled.

Ginny laughed and tossed her hair back. "Don't worry Ron. If I'm gonna ravage your friend, it'll be when he's in his own body."

While Ron choked on his pumpkin juice, Ginny patted him on the back and said, "Kidding!"

Harry had no idea how to react to any of that. He had thought Ginny's Year One crush on him had been entirely destroyed after, well, her traumatic Year One. Could she…possibly…still be into him? He felt a reactive twitch in his pants, and immediately shoved his food away from him, horrified at the thought of feeling Malfoy's mini House mascot stirring. "I better go, then…" he muttered, leaving as quickly as he could. Avoiding Ginny's gaze, he missed the fleeting look of hurt and shame flash through her.

Draco noticed Harry get up and leave immediately. _Let the git wait for me_, he thought as he stubbornly loaded more bacon to his plate.

"Dumbledore wants to see you both?" Pansy asked, nodding to the candle wax.

"Looks that way," Draco said, taking a defiant bite of eggs.

"And you're going to sit here and stuff your face."

"It's not _my_ face."

"Draco Lucernus Malfoy. Get your ass to his office now. If he's working on a plan to switch you back, you need to cooperate."

Draco huffed at her.

"She's right, Draco," Blaise said.

"It says here, after breakfast!"

"Yeah, and both Potter and Dumbledore have already finished and left." Blaise said.

Goyle's small eyes crinkled in amusement. "You can't win when the wife and the boyfriend team up."

Pansy beamed at Goyle. She enjoyed that most of Slytherin assumed her and Draco would be engaged soon. She hoped dearly for it to be true…getting betrothed to her best friend would be a much better prospect than with a stranger.

Draco gave a long suffering sigh and tossed his napkin to his plate. "Only because I love you both," he said, standing up with a wink.

Draco arrived at the gargoyle who guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Raspberry Rat-tail," he said, repeating the password Dumbledore had used with him earlier that morning. The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the slowly ascending circular staircase. Draco marched up the stairs, purposely taking calm even steps. He didn't understand what Dumbledore wanted with them, when he _just_ spoke with them.

"Ahh, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore greeted him. "I hope you won't suffer indigestion from rushing through breakfast. Please, take a seat."

Draco sat on the edge of the chair, as stiff and prim as his mother when on the brink of an argument with his father.

"Sir, why have you called us back so soon?" Draco asked.

Harry lounged messily in his seat. It annoyed Draco to see his own body in such an undignified slouch.

"With breakfast upon us, we didn't have time earlier to ascertain the effects of your transformation on your magical abilities."

Harry's shoulders tightened. "What do you mean?"

Draco pursed his lips.

"Your magical signature is part of your body; it's like your blood. Not only will there be…an adjustment period…to learn the specifics of using magic that isn't yours, but you may require new wands."

Harry glanced at Draco, and saw the dark haired boy sitting like a set of armour.

"First, we shall need to test your current wands. If you would please place them both on the desk."

Neither boy moved.

"Right here," Dumbledore urged, tapping the front of his desk.

Draco pulled out the wand still holstered in his robes: Harry's wand, Holly, 11 inches. He wondered what the core was. He placed it on the table, with a challenging look at Potter.

Harry took out the wand in his robes. It had a near black handle, maybe an inch shorter than his own. He put it next to his familiar Holly wand, itching to take his own wand back.

"Excellent. Now, I'm going to first ask Mr. Malfoy to pick up his own wand. What spell reacted for you while you were testing wands?"

Draco shook his head. "My mother told Mr. Ollivander what she wanted. Unicorn hair is a tradition in our family wands, and after a consultation they decided to go with Hawthorn. I wasn't even there, I was being fitted at Madam Malkins."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Using materials out of tradition, in respect of blood lines, can occasionally create fantastic bonds…I, however, prefer to let the individual discover the right fit for them. In your case, Mr. Malfoy, you no longer have the bloodline that your wand is catered to."

Draco went pale. He hadn't had time to consider…he was no longer a pure-blood.

"I might be sick," he whispered. Harry rolled his eyes and swore in annoyance.

Muggles were the boogeymen to Draco, heartless and brutal primitives who burned witches from his family ancestry at the stake.

Many wizarding families told their children beautiful lies about how the flames would only tickle those burnt; his family preferred truth and knowledge above comfort. Few witches and wizards could perform non-verbal magic, fewer still could successfully do wandless magic. But both, in a powerful spell like contorting an element? In reality, it was extremely unlikely that anyone could pull that off while tied to a stake and burned alive.

He flashed onto the memory of his thrice-Great Grandmother, Isolande Malfoy. When he was a child, he was meditating in the Veneration Chamber, a room dedicated to portraits of every ancestor from their family. Isolande's portrait, however, was covered with a black velvet curtain. Curious, Draco had pulled the curtain back, only to find her shrieking in agony. His father had rushed in, replaced the curtain, and for the first and only time in his life, struck Draco. When the boy started to cry, Lucius sat on the floor and pulled his son into his lap, cuddled him close, and explained that Isolande had been burned at the stake before she had a portrait made. The only painter who had seen Isolande in life, had seen her the day she died. No matter how he tried to paint, he could only capture her essence as he experienced it most strongly: in the moment of her death. Any light made her feel the flames again, and so her portrait was forever shrouded.

Draco could hear Isolande howling, wailing, could feel the terror and shock of his father's slap, could see her blaming him for her pain.

And now, he had muggle lineage; the blood of the monsters nourished him.

Draco shakily reached forward and picked up his Hawthorn wand. It felt cold. He could already tell it didn't recognize him; he tried to cast Lumos, and only a tiny ember spat off the end. Dread filled his belly.

"Alright, thank you, Mr. Malfoy. And now if you'll be so kind as to indulge me? Please pick up Mr. Potter's wand and attempt a simple spell."

Draco set his own wand down with a tiny click of wood-on-wood, and paused. A moment of grieving. He picked up the Holly wand, and was bitterly pleased that it remained neutral. "Lumos," he said, trying to keep this strange voice under tight control. A small fire shot into a book laying atop the Headmaster's desk. Dumbledore neatly extinguished it.

"I'd wager that wand rather aggressively disagrees with you," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

Draco set it down on the desk. All his quips were gone.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, turning to Harry. "If you would please begin by picking up your Holly wand and attempting a simple spell."

Harry stared at his own wand. _This is going to work,_ he willed, and he picked up his wand. A tickle of fear stroked cold fingers in his chest when he could already feel a change in his stead-fast wand. "Wingardium Leviosa," he cast firmly at the book Malfoy had burned. A few pages fluttered. Nothing.

"Wingardium Levio-sah!" Harry tried again, louder and more pronounced. The cover page breezily raised itself, a slightly more robust ruffling of pages.

Harry glared in disbelief.

"Alright, Harry—"

"Wingardium Leviosah!" He yelled, giving a violent swish and flick, determined to make it work. The book didn't move at all.

"Harry, my boy. You gave it your best. Now, if you please…take Mr. Malfoy's wand."

"This is stupid," Harry growled. "I don't want Malfoy's wand."

"We need to know for certain that it's not, in fact, your wand now."

Draco watched Harry's antics in silence. _Please, please don't work for him,_ he begged the universe. His face was perfectly neutral.

Harry huffed, and grabbed the Hawthorn wand without ceremony. It…felt funny. Like static electricity. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, and before he could cast anything, the wand began emitting a tinny sound that bounced off the walls, causing objects to fall, and creating a zapping sensation when it passed over a person's skin. Harry quickly put the wand down.

Dumbledore laughed. "I daresay, the wand is very much aware that you did not win its loyalty."

Harry shrugged, not caring about Malfoy's stupid wand. Draco closed his eyes and gave silent thanks.

"With Ollivander's shop abandoned, and Mr. Ollivander nowhere to be found, we will need to procure wands from another source," Dumbledore said. "I am sending you both with Hagrid to a wandsmith-"

Draco groaned. "Not Hagrid!"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, Hagrid. I would pay better respect if I were you," he added as Draco scoffed, "For without his allegiance with Aragog and the spiders of the Forest, you and Mr. Potter would not have survived the night."

"Allegiance with spiders?" Draco repeated incredulously.

Harry grinned. "You heard him. You owe your life to a half-breed, Malfoy."

"Considering how many times he puts that life to risk with his insane classes, I'll say he still owes me a few," Draco grumbled.

"We have little time," Dumbledore interrupted. "The gentleman I'm sending you to is quite eccentric, and prefers his clients come at specific hours. I believe his assistance is the best for your situation. He deals with…unusual materials for wands. And considering your semi-permanent unnatural states, you may require something less common."

Harry's pale brow furrowed, wondering what that meant.

"Seeing as this will put you both in public, I have to insist that you both remain under the Disillusionment charm until you are inside the shop."

Harry was grateful that Dumbledore didn't ask him to bring his Cloak; it was enough of a disaster that Malfoy had infiltrated Gryffindor Tower and been caught rummaging in his trunk. He would have hated sharing the secret and intimacy of his Invisibility Cloak with the git. The very thought made him flush.

"Mr. Giordano typically locks his shop after a singular family or client arrives, so it will not be unusual for him to value Hagrid's privacy," Dumbledore continued. "Now, if you wish to wash up or get changed, you have half an hour to do so. You will meet Hagrid at his hut in that time. And remember," he added softly. "Once you meet Mr. Giordano, you will be unable to explain your situation to him."

"But…I thought you said our situation might need special materials? How are we supposed to tell him that?" Harry asked.

"As you just phrased it should suffice. But I wouldn't worry; he has a knack at discerning what is needed." Dumbledore stood. "Gentlemen, I bid you good luck. I will confirm with Hagrid that you will both be ready to meet him in half an hour. Once you've succeeded in obtaining new wands, consider the rest of your day to be a free period. Depending on my own level of success, I will summon you both to return here either tonight or tomorrow morning, to review our next steps."

Dumbledore scooped up both their wands, and smiled gently at them.

As Harry and Draco left his office and began walking to their respective Houses, they each thought the same thing: how terribly isolating and helpless it was to walk Hogwarts without a wand.


	4. Mr Giordano

**Chapter Four: Mr. Giordano**

Harry arrived in Gryffindor House and immediately went upstairs to his room. He couldn't rip Malfoy's clothes off himself quick enough. Despite being charmed to Gryffindor colours, they were still _Malfoy's clothes_, and he felt grimy wearing them. He threw them angrily onto his bed, and when he took his shorts off he threw them directly in the fire.

He began pulling on his own clothes, and found they didn't fit. Not properly. His trousers were short in the legs and uncomfortably snug. He realized he couldn't do them up. _Fuck._ He struggled out of them, and tried for a shirt. His t-shirt was tight. It fit, but only if he was going for the near-spandex look. Frustrated, he yanked it off.

A loud cheering whooped into the room. Horrified, Harry grabbed the Gryffindor cloak he had discarded and quickly wrapped himself up in it.

Slow applause: Justin Finch-Fletchley entered, laughing at him. Neville walked in with him, grinning apologetically.

"Fuck right off," Harry said.

"Sorry mate," Neville said with a laugh.

"Oh c'mon now," Justin said, "No need to protect Malfoy's virtue! Let's see what he's got!" Justin took out his wand. Harry panicked, wandless.

"Expelliarmous!" Neville said. Justin scoffed at him.

"Oi, COME ON. We're just havin' a bit o' fun, yah?"

"There's a line, man."

_Thank God for Neville Longbottom._

"Bollocks, this is just a laugh. It's Malfoy's body! Harry, get a ruler."

"I'm gonna stick with 'fuck right off'," Harry said.

Justin laughed. "Why on earth are you being so coy?!"

"Leave him alone Justin. He's _in_ that body, he doesn't even know what he looks like, and you wanna put him out for judgment and ridicule?"

"I'm not ridiculing HIM, just Malfoy!"

"Yeah, well newsflash Justin, he's got to live in that body right now."

"Whatever," Justin said, rolling his eyes and walking over to his bed. "You're such a Hufflepuff."

"Thank you," Neville said, a challenge in his eyes. "It's not an insult to say I'm fair."

"I was going for goody-two-shoes," Justin said, digging through his trunk.

"If that's the worst my friends can say about me, I'll take it," Neville said, smiling.

"Ah-ha!" Justin said, pulling out his Charms textbook. "I knew it was in here. Let's go."

"Er, Neville?" Harry said. Neville turned to look at him. "Ah, can you stay a sec?"

Justin raised his eyebrows. "I'll meet you at class," Neville said. Justin leaned over and in a stage-whisper said, "If he shows you his dong, people will pay for the pensieve."

Neville punched his shoulder, laughing. "Take your wand and get out of here, you great big pervert."

Justin, taking his wand, used it to give a little salute as he left.

"What's up Harry?"

"Do you…do you know how to charm clothing? Nothing fits," he admitted sheepishly.

Neville's brow furrowed in confusion. "Yeah, sure mate…but…can't you do it? I mean, you don't want something fancy right?"

"No, I don't need anything like that. But," Harry had to bully himself to say the next few words. "I can't do magic right now."

Neville's eyes widened. "No shit…?"

"Yeah. Malfoy and I have to get new wands. Even then, Dumbledore said we'll have to adjust to using magic that's not our own."

Neville whistled. "That's rough," he said.

"Tell me about it," Harry agreed.

"Okay, what needs doing?"

Harry gave his friend instructions, and Neville altered the clothes Harry had chosen. "I gotta get to class, but I can do the rest of your stuff tonight if you want."

"Thanks Neville. That'd be great."

Neville smiled, turning to leave.

"And Neville?"

Neville stopped to look back at Harry.

"Thanks. For Justin."

"No problem."

* * *

><p>"Oh, Christ," Harry swore when he saw Draco flirting with Pansy at the main doors. She was holding his hand and saying something earnestly to him; he patted her hand, and kissed her cheek.<p>

"Do you mind _not_ making out with Slytherin skanks in my body?" Harry said as he approached.

Pansy snarled at him, and Draco instantly bristled. "Potter, if that constitutes 'making out' for you, then I'd wager you're a virgin." With wide eyes and a gleeful smile, Draco asked, "Oh Merlin, am I virgin again?!"

"No," Harry lied.

"I am aren't I? Pansy, love, do me a favour, start informing Hogwarts that I'll be selling precious Potter's virginity to the highest bidder…"

"With pleasure," she purred, smiling at Harry.

"Don't you dare!" Harry called after her, as she sashayed down the hall. "You complete and utter asshole!" Harry shoved Draco.

Draco shoved him back with a laugh. "Careful, or I'll let your stalker Colin Creepy in on the bidding pool…"

Harry was about to yell back, but suddenly stopped. Starred. "What did you do to my hair?"

"I used this new invention called a comb," he drawled.

"Seriously. What did you do? It's flat."

"Correction: it's awesome. 'Flat' means boring. And I simply refuse to appear less than what I am. Despite current circumstances."

"I can't get it to not look fucked up."

"That's because _you're_ fucked up," Draco cooed and started walking outside.

Harry trotted to catch up, realizing it was easier with longer legs.

"Okay, a moment of truth. You're not…you're not messing around with Pansy as me, are you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Potter."

Harry felt relieved. Draco smirked.

* * *

><p><em>Knock, knock, knock.<em>

Side-stepping a bounding Fang, Hagrid threw open the door.

"Harry!" He cried, elated. He threw his arms wide and instinctively leaned towards what looked like Harry, and Draco sneered and flinched back. "Oh, righ', not you…Harry!" He wrapped his arms around Harry, who smiled and could feel himself relax from Hagrid's genuine affection.

"Hey Hagrid. Thanks for last night. We owe you," Harry said, pointed with his pronoun choice.

"Codswallop, Harry," Hagrid said, grinning. "I'm not Groundskeeper for nothin', yeh know. It's me duty to keep tha' Forest in order. I did nothin' outta the ordinary. 'Course…" he paused, embarrassed, "I may have torn off the fron' doors to the infirmary when I got there with yeh both…Madam Pomfrey hasn' forgiven me for scarin' her…"

Noticing the bored, disapproving look on Draco's face, Hagrid flushed. "Never thought I'd ever see yeh look at me like tha'," He said to Harry, nodded briskly at Draco.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, it's been a trip."

"Speakin' of trip! Let's go!" Hagrid said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them excitedly.

Hagrid led them behind his hut, and gleaming in the fall sun was Sirius' flying motorbike. Harry felt his throat swell and harden. _Sirius. _He swallowed, trying to force the lump away.

"What. Is THAT." Draco demanded.

Hagrid beamed at him. "It's a muggle biwheeled locomotor! Enchanted to FLY!"

Draco's jaw opened slightly and his lip curled in distaste.

Harry laughed, Draco's expression helping him shove away his grief for his godfather.

"Oh, it gets better," Harry said, grabbing Draco's arm and pulling him around to see the side of the bike. "We get the SIDECAR."

"That's like, held on by one little strip of metal," Draco said.

"Yep."

"Made by muggles."

"Yep."

"There's no way it's reliable," Draco said.

"This bike has bin aroun' longer 'n yeh have, Malfoy!" Hagrid boomed, protective of his inherited machine.

"Oh great, it's OLD too," Draco whined.

Harry hopped in, delighted to see how uncomfortable Draco was.

"Can't we just Portkey like any normal wizard?"

"Dumbledore said we're ter go with the bike," Hagrid said importantly. "Portkeys need ter be registered, an' we don' wan' anythin' so traceable."

Wary, Draco began to climb over the edge.

Hagrid swung himself into his seat, causing the bike to tilt as Draco was delicately trying to climb over the edge. He slipped, swearing. It was cramped in the sidecar, meant for one large wizard, but carrying two teenage boys. "Move," Draco grumbled, knowing full well that Harry had nowhere _to_ move.

"I can't, you move!" Harry retorted.

"Ready?" Hagrid bellowed, revving the bike. Draco gripped onto the side, hating how Harry laughed at him for it.

Like the sound of a laughing god, the bike roared to life and took to the sky.

Nearly two hours later, Hagrid finally landed. He pushed his riding goggles atop his head, and pulled out his pink umbrella. "Hold up," he said, rapping each boy over the head with it.

"Ow," Malfoy complained. "You incompetent—"

"Where are we Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Best not speak now, yeh both," Hagrid said gruffly, giving a nod when the Disillusionment charm completed. "Alrigh'. Let's go."

Hagrid had parked along a dirt road. Tall yellow grass swayed around them. It was a small village, several farmers, and one rickety looking house with a haunting of trees packed tight in its 100 acres of land.

Hagrid led them towards this house, and as they got closer Harry felt more and more like they shouldn't.

The paint was dull, molting off the house in feathery chunks, exposing the bare pink beneath. The roof, dented severely just off centre, looked almost designed to be a giant lopsided 'V', with the outer walls of the house jauntily holding their ends high in near-mockery.

With every step, Harry felt something twist in him, telling him to turn around.

"Something's wrong," Draco hissed.

"Quiet," came Hagrid's tiny growl. He seemed to struggle to continue forward as well.

Hagrid reached for the door knocker, and once his fingers wrapped around the ring it yanked his hand inside the door.

"Name."

"Wha' is this?!" Hagrid roared.

"Name."

Hagrid tried to pull his hand free, and the door tightened around his wrist.

"Let go!"

"Name."

Hagrid glared at the door, and Harry could tell he was contemplating ripping the damn thing off its hinges, but he must have thought better of it because he gruffly answered, "Rubeus Hagrid."

Hagrid yelped, "Somethin' bit me!"

A moment's pause; the door released his hand, and swung open.

Hagrid stared, but only blackness greeted him, as if someone had used Peruvian Darkness Powder in the doorway.

He stepped through, and Harry and Draco followed silently.

"Wha's this all abou'?!" Hagrid demanded.

"Johanna tells me you taste good. But has yet to taste the hidden ones."

"Yeah?" Hagrid said gruffly, still unable to see anything in the house. "Tell Johanna she won' be tastin' 'em. They're under my protection."

Bright light, the sudden change blinding the three wizards. A cackle.

"Oh, they've been tasted already, I see, I see…"

Draco glanced at Harry nervously.

"Look," Hagrid started, rapping both boys over their heads again to dissolve the Disillusionment charm. "These two are here ter hire yer services. Can you wand 'em or not?"

"That depends," said Mr. Giordano. He was in his early 100's, his olive skin wrapped as tight as canvas across his wooden bones. He was missing several teeth, and his knuckles bulged like walnuts across his hands. "Are they muggles?"

"How dare you!" Draco sputtered.

Mr. Giordano laughed, and with an agility that defied his age, sprang monkey-like to his side. "You think, you think…" His normally hunched form stood to its straightest, and he stood on tip toe to stare Draco in the eyes. "Hmm, yes. You think."

He relaxed his posture again, hunching into his comfort stance, and stole Draco's hand. He flipped it over, his shining eyes lighting over the lines and grooves of the boy's palm. Harry's palm. He frowned. "No, you are not a matching set," he murmured, monkey crouch walking to Harry. He grabbed Harry's shirt and pulled him down to look into his eyes. "Hmm. You. You fly." He released Harry's shirt and gently took his hand, eyes soft on his palm. "Ahh, there you are…" He looked between Harry and Draco.

"You have found the Switch. The Switch has found you. Perhaps you can find each other."

Mr. Giordano went to Hagrid's side. "Yes. I will wand them. It will be costly."

"As long as yeh're not plannin' ter take any more blood," Hagrid joked.

"Apologies. Johanna polices the liars. She can taste malintent," he explained, motioning to a beautiful lizard the size of a poodle. "People come, they fight through the repelling ward, they are either in true need or they want to shut me down.

"A life, a world, it needs you to be…careful," he said quietly, squishing the pad of this thumb hard against Draco's forehead: Harry's scar.

"You can go now," he said flippantly to Hagrid.

"Wha'?"

"You are disturbing everything and cannot be here."

Hagrid looked furious, then self-doubting. He turned to Harry. "If yeh need anythin'… I'll be righ' outside."

"Next door," Mr. Giordano corrected. "You forget my wards but they won't forget you."

"Righ'," Hagrid said, worried.

"We'll be fine, Hagrid," Harry told his friend.

After some reassuring, Hagrid finally stepped outside.

"Alone! The five of us at last!"

"Five?" Harry asked.

"Can't you count?"

Harry looked around, to see if there was another pet besides Johanna that he had overlooked. But to his eyes, including the lizard, it was just the four of them.

Mr. Giordano cackled. "No, no, you can't count, you're not the thinker!" He stood tall again, and stood nose to nose with Draco. He whispered, "You count. You. Stop sleeping."

"I'm not sleeping," Draco said, leaning back for want of personal space and air that didn't smell like death.

"I wasn't talking to you," Mr. Giordano said simply, hunching back down and walking towards a crate of boxes.

Draco looked at Harry and mouthed the words, "He's crazy!"

Harry grinned and nodded. He looked back at Mr. Giordano, and saw the man digging through—wands? Harry raised his eyebrows, jerked his thumb at the sight and looked at Draco again. Draco glanced over, did a double take and gave a soft, single laugh. He shook his head and smiled back at Harry. They could both imagine how Ollivander would have reacted: their familiar wandmaker wrapped each individual wand in its own custom box, inlaid with a velvet bed and a ribbon blanket overtop the wand before the lid shut. And Mr. Giordano…kept hundreds of wands clinking together in a wooden crate.

"A contender!"

Despite his singular term, he pulled two wands out.

He gave both boys a hard, appraising look, before very deliberately offering each wand simultaneously.

Harry reached for his, then froze. His left hand had automatically reached out. He dropped his hand, embarrassed and uncertain.

Draco asked, "What are they made from?"

Mr. Giordano looked up at Draco, inky eyes searching for something. "Hold. Discover."

Harry reached again, and closed his left hand over the proffered wand. He gasped. He had never felt anything like this from a wand. It—it was invasive—

He dropped the wand to the floor.

"No thanks," Draco drawled.

Mr. Giordano paid no attention to the boys, instead falling with the wand, leaning on hands and knees with his ear to the ground. He lifted his face, staring intently at the wand, its shadow, its angle.

"Jealous thing," he whispered, picking it up lovingly and returning to his crate. "Back to your orphan brothers and sisters."

Harry looked at his hand—Draco's hand. He wanted to scrub the veins of his entire arm. He was glad he dropped the wand as quickly as he had, and was wondering what had been inside it.

"Again." Mr. Giordano held out two wands, drastically different from each other in appearance. Draco turned to Harry, arms folded across his chest, expectantly waiting.

"What, you're not even going to try until you see my reaction?!"

"Pretty much."

"Git." Harry took the wand. He hiccupped. _Well, that's embarrassing._ He hiccupped again; and then the hiccups had no pause between, his chest aching with each firm thump, his breath hard to deliver. His hand was gripped tight around the wand. _Let go,_ he told himself. His fingers jolted apart, the wand dropped, and the hiccups stopped.

Mr. Giordano fell in tandem once more, ear to the ground, listening to the vibrations gossip, watching the shadow's condemning texture, noting the number of times the wand tapped and rolled before resting to the ground.

The elderly wandsmith returned both wands without a word, and dug around for another offering.

So it went for hours, with Harry testing and Draco bored out of his skull. Draco would not risk embarrassing himself in public.

Mr. Giordano gripped Harry's hand, starring into the lines of his palm once more. "Your previous wand…Hawthorn."

"That was my wand," Draco said, alert at the sound of his old wand.

"Your body is spoiled, stubborn. It has not suffered."

Harry laughed. Draco glared at him. "Why are you laughing? Scars and suffering are not something to be proud of."

"Your body has expectations and is not yielding without fulfilment."

"My boyfriend would agree with you."

Harry gaped at him. "Your—what?"

Mr. Giordano cackled. "Circle's centre, thinks it stays in the same place, doesn't know it turns…" He dropped Harry's hand and returned to the crate.

Harry was still looking at Draco. "I thought you and Pansy-?"

"You and most of Hogwarts," Draco said. "Slytherin knows. But we don't spread our own business around. We're loyal."

Harry looked confused. "But…so…you'll tell your House, but not the school? Why?"

"Because Pansy is my best friend," Draco answered. Seeing that Harry was still confused, Draco elaborated. "I wouldn't humiliate her. It's very likely her and I will be betrothed soon. Having affairs, both her and I, is only an appropriate outlet if we hold discretion. Telling the world I'm gay would destroy the illusion. Slytherin is savvy to these kinds of situations and doesn't judge."

Harry felt like his world had just reeled off kilter slightly. "Why are you telling me then?" He asked gently.

Draco shrugged. "You're in my body, so chances are you'd discover I'm not straight pretty damn quick. I figure if I confide in you beforehand, your Gryffindor chivalry will keep you honourbound to keep it to yourself. Unless…you'd expect to be attracted to men, because you're not straight either?"

"I'm straight!" Harry said.

"Alright," Draco said. "Then yeah. My body would tell you."

With a wicked grin, Harry said, "I dunno, Malfoy…your body seemed to tell me otherwise."

Draco looked shocked. "What have you been doing with my body?!"

"Nothing!"

"Trollshit! You hypocrite, you get all up in my business about whether or not I'm fucking Pansy in your body—"

"Hey wait—you said you wouldn't—_that was only because you're gay, wasn't it?!"_

"—meanwhile you've been doing WHAT with some female—oh gods. Do not impregnate a mudblood girl."

"What?!"

"She will not be eligible for any Malfoy titles, lands, or monies. I will not accept any bastard as mine if it's fathered by you."

"Malfoy, you know I'm a virgin!"

Draco stopped. "For serious? I was joking earlier."

Harry stopped. _He had been joking?! _Harry huffed, a small pink creeping high in his cheeks.

"Potter, you're straight, you're rich, you're the bloody Chosen One, how are you not slipping your wand in every lioness at Hogwarts?"

"I'm…waiting."

"Waiting."

"Yes, Malfoy, waiting."

"For what?! To die and become a pervy ghost in the toilets with Myrtle?"

"Fuck off."

Draco paused. _Huh. Waiting._ "That's kind of romantic."

Again, Harry felt completely flat footed. _How was it that Malfoy could always throw him off guard?_

"Waiting for anyone in particular?" When Harry refused to answer, Draco added, "If you say 'Granger', I will laugh forever."

"No, not Hermione!" Harry said quickly. "She's like a sister."

Silence.

"Cho Chang?"

"Stop guessing Malfoy, I'm not talking about this with you."

"Fine," Draco said. "The She-Weasel?"

"I'm still not talking about this with you."

"Alright! _Fine,_" Draco relented. "You may have felt something for a girl in my body, but attraction lives in both the mind and the body. So your mind conjured that lady-sexytimes-moment. But my body will soon educate you on men."

Harry was stunned. "Wait. You're saying…you think I'll start to like…"

"Welcome to the Cocksucker Club."

Before Harry could react, Mr. Giordano returned. He held two wands, midnight black with a fine powdering of sea-blue. Mr. Giordano held the shorter of the pair to Harry.

Harry's hand closed around it. The weight of it was comforting. It…fit.

Draco watched closely. This was the first time Harry hadn't reacted instantly with boils or creepy looks on his face or anything.

Harry felt confident enough to try a small spell. _I'll choose Lumos,_ he thought, and the instant his intent was solidified the wand cast a blue glow.

He hadn't needed to verbalize the spell at all.

Draco reached for the wand offered to him. It was warm. And…something calling. He found himself smiling, without understanding why. "Lumos," he said, like a greeting. His wand gave a purple-blue glow.

Mr. Giordano triumphantly shrieked his pleasure at their success.

"Now will you tell us the materials?" Draco pressed, still smiling.

Mr. Giordano sat on the ground, deep in thought. "Do you ask for knowing, or for judging?"

"I'm curious," Harry admitted.

Mr. Giordano waited, and after a pause Draco admitted, "Honestly? To know, to judge, to learn."

Mr. Giordano nodded at Draco. He turned to Harry. "You. Flier. You don't want to know."

Harry glared at him. "With all due respect, yes, I do want to know."

"Your mouth says words from your brain. Your mouth is foolish. Mouth needs to take orders from your spirit. What does your spirit warn you?"

"I don't—"

"Stop. Your mouth is moving. Stop. Listen to yourself."

Harry paused, and with surprise realized that his gut reaction told him he didn't want to know. Naturally, this only made him more curious.

"I really want to know," Harry affirmed.

Mr. Giordano shook his head. "Fool-mouth Flier. Alright." He stood up again, and looked each of them in the eye. "Wood is a hybrid; Hawthorn, and Elder. The Core…is taken from the same creature." He paused to look between each boy. He pushed his thumb pad into Draco's chest. "You, have the vocal cords. Unwound, curled, at rest. You," he pushed his thumb pad into Harry's chest. "You, have a lung; a slender, narrow thing, stretched taunt in its chamber.

"As for the donor…her name was Mauria."

Both boys stared dumbfounded.

"She was young. Sweet. I stole her from the sea, and I made nearly thirty wands with her."

"She…she was a mermaid?" Harry asked. "But…they're like us. You can't…" He looked down at his wand like it had betrayed him.

Mr. Giordano clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Fool-mouth Flier," he said remorsefully.


	5. Success

Harry was deeply disturbed that his wand materials had been harvested from a sentient being, something—no, someone—so close to human. That she had been kidnapped and killed for his wand was devastatingly immoral.

"I can't use this," Harry said, holding his wand awkwardly.

"Potter, it's done," Draco said quietly. He, too, was staring at his wand with tendrils of guilt weeding themselves thickly in his logic.

Mr. Giordano left the boys to call Hagrid back into his home. Harry strode to the crate of wands.

"Potter—"

"What else does he use." Flat-voiced, nearly a statement.

"How should I know?" Draco sighed, exasperated.

"A girl died!" Harry yelled, turning to glare at Draco. "She was taken from her family, from her world, so she could die and never even receive a burial because she was butchered for her body parts!"

Draco simply stared at him stonily.

"And we're planning to pay this man for what he's done?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Dumbledore warned us that he uses uncommon materials. Mr. Giordano admitted he frequently had people trying to shut him down. Did you believe everything would be clean and legal?" Far from the usual confrontational banter, Draco's words were soft, swirling with sadness, resigned.

"Illegal is one thing," Harry spat. "I could handle illegal. If I had to. But this—this is bigger than that. It's _wrong_."

Draco looked down at his wand again. He had never had a wand truly _choose_ him before. It was such a special bond, a rite of magical passage that he hadn't experienced before, and he loved it.

But a girl died for it.

"Alright Potter," Draco began. "What do you want to do about it?"

Harry looked stunned to have Draco agreeing with him.

"Well…we can't accept these!" Harry said.

"Alright," Draco said again, watching Harry closely. "So, we don't accept them. We tell the old man exactly what we think of him, and his work. We leave empty handed. Then what? We're bound by the Hogwarts Secret, so we can't explain what we were doing here to anyone in the Ministry. Which means we can't report him. So your plan, is to remain without wands, without magic, during a war in which you are a pivotal figure." He raised his eyebrows at Harry. "Can you afford to be without magic for as long as it takes to find the Switch?"

Harry looked at his wand again. "No," he whispered, the word an apology.

Mr. Giordano entered with Hagrid in tow. "Yeh boys alrigh'?" Hagrid asked them.

They both nodded solemnly, lost deep in thought.

Hagrid pulled a purple pouch from his inside jacket pocket, and doled out a significant amount of galleons to the wandsmith.

"And?" Mr. Giordano added, having counted the money and apparently waiting for something.

"Oh! Righ'," Hagrid said, pulling out a tiny parcel covered in brown paper and tied with a string. "Dumbledore told me yeh'd be expectin' this."

Mr. Giordano's fingernails expertly pulled the string and slit the paper, so that all the wrapping fell to the ground like a snake's shedded skin, nearly intact. Inside was a small clear box lined with wax paper. Six different cubes of cheese sat with careful intention, like jewelry. The old man's mouth made appreciative smacking noises, and after a moment's staring he closed the lid and held the box close to his body, coveted.

"Dumbledore, you said?" Mr. Giordano asked silkily.

Hagrid looked immediately guilty. "Oh…I shouldn'ta told yeh tha'."

"My, my," Mr. Giordano said, sidling closer to the half-giant. "Give him a message. For me."

"Uhh….sure. I can do tha'."

"His wand is a greater atrocity than any I have created. Tell him it will kill him; it doesn't know any better. It was born to death."

"Righ'," Hagrid said uneasily. "I'll be sure ter tell him."

With that, Mr. Giordano snapped his fingers and all three of his houseguests found themselves just outside the line of his property.

On returning to Hogwarts, Draco immediately went to the library. He knew very little about merpeople; pureblood families always did steadfast research on the wood and creature whose contributions allowed the creation of their wand. Purebloods never saw wands as tools: they were companions. They had near-sentience, and they channeled the most precious part of any witch or wizard. Draco needed to learn more about mermaids, so his relationship with his wand could deepen. They needed to understand each other.

Harry went directly to Gryffindor tower. He laid in bed, curtains drawn, starring at the ceiling trying to process the situation. How long would he be stuck in Draco's body? He could never tell Hermione about his wand. How would his adjustment to Draco's magic affect his classes? What if Voldemort struck while Harry was still like this? He missed his old wand. Knowing it was Voldemort's twin gave him an edge. He felt safer with it.

Harry fiddled with his new wand, twin to Draco's. He felt suddenly bitter that he always seemed to twine his magic with one nemesis or another. _What does _that_ say about me?!_ he brooded.

He got up, going to the bathroom. On his way in, he misjudged the step with his new longer legs and stubbed his toe. Harry swore. He gripped his foot, shocked at how low Draco's pain tolerance was. He thought about Buckbeak tearing his arm, thought about the Gnoll's talons across his back. He shuddered. For all the abuse Harry put up with while living with the Dursleys, he hadn't realized he'd been dealt a kind hand with a higher pain tolerance than normal. He really felt like his toe was broken, even though he logically knew he hadn't hit it that hard. He limped into the bathroom and locked the door.

Harry leaned on the sink's counter and stared at himself in the mirror. He tested out a few facial expressions, and realized Draco had a naturally very expressive face—he only chose to hide it behind cool veneers and smirks. At least, publically. He remembered Draco telling him that all of Slytherin knew he was gay. When you share something like that, Harry expected you didn't go hiding every emotion from reaching your face.

Harry wrinkled his nose. Draco's fine, straight nose. When Harry pulled the look in his own body, he looked about five years old again. But Draco's face somehow made it look disapproving and adult, like a man whose wine was not what he expected. It pissed him off.

Harry lost track of how long he stayed there, trying to get used to his new face, to commit to memory how it moved and how others would see him. He wondered how he would handle getting in and out of the shower stalls without ridicule from Justin and however many other Gryffindors had something against Malfoy.

Harry finally emerged from the bathroom to discover it was nearly dinnertime. The Tower was bloated with rowdy students killing time before heading down to the Great Hall.

Harry went downstairs to sit in the common room. He found Hermione sitting on one of the couches, a half a dozen sheets of parchment laying like puzzle pieces around her. Her finger on one for reference, she was making a notation on another. Harry thought about the type of smile he wanted to give, and tried his best to mimic what he had practiced. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, knowing better than to move her paperwork.

"Oh! _Harry_, you startled me," she blustered. She began carefully collecting the parchment slips, their order appearing as confusing to Harry as a Rubix cube and equally as logical to the girl. "I really hope I don't have to get used to equating Malfoy's face with my best friend," Hermione said as Harry sat next to her. She couldn't help shifting slightly away—the sight of Draco Malfoy made her uncomfortable. "How long does Dumbledore think this is going to take?"

"I don't know. He said they'll have search parties around the clock for that damn snake. But…" he shrugged.

"He needs the snake? The exact same snake?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, Harry…" he watched Hermione's face contort in anxiety. "We have to help them look!"

Harry nodded. "I figured I'd sneak out after curfew."

"I didn't mean that," Hermione said quickly. "I meant we have to go to the library. Dig up everything ever written about the Switch. Learn typical behavior after it's delivered its bite, try to predict where it is."

"If Dumbledore thinks sending scouts into the Forest is the best plan, I'm gonna go with that."

"Harry. Dumbledore also thinks the Forest is too dangerous for students. He reminds us every year that it's forbidden!"

"Not forbidden enough to keep it exempt from detention duty," Harry countered.

"Actually, I asked about that after our First Year," Hermione said. "Turns out, any issued detention in the Forest is prepared by Hagrid first; he lures the more dangerous beasts to stay on the opposite side from where the students are released. This keeps the Forest moderately safe during that time. It may be that occasionally a few slip out of his constraints, but the majority remain in check. You have a specific time frame you're expected to be in there, and a professor or three monitoring your return."

"No way," Harry argued. "The whole point of our First Year detention was we were supposed to hunt down whatever had killed the unicorn!"

Hermione smirked. "Professor McGonagall made me promise not to say anything, but if it'll make you reconsider sneaking in, I don't think she'd mind. The truth is, Hagrid had confided that he'd discovered unicorn blood while visiting Aragog. As usual, Hagrid couldn't let any animal be in pain, so he had packed bandages and ointments in his pockets with the plan to search the Forest and help. He believed it was only wounded. McGonagall thought sending us into the Forest with him would scare us into our beds, and stop us from sneaking around again. She told Hagrid to embellish the story to us."

"That bitch," Harry said.

"I was steamed when I first found out too. But they had no idea something unusual was actually hiding in there, or that the unicorn had been fatally wounded; they just wanted to spook us. Obviously they had no idea that Voldemort had infiltrated school grounds."

"I can't believe Hagrid strung us along like that. He had me convinced we were monster-hunting."

"Honestly Harry, it makes sense. He split us up into two teams, for goodness sakes! Did you really think that would happen, especially to First Years, if any professor thought a dangerous unknown beast had gotten in?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess not…"

"Precisely," Hermione said. "As for this snake hunt—Hagrid can't lure the beasts to a corner every night. It would jeopardize their quality of life," Hermione insisted. "And by doing a sweep he might inadvertently have the Switch hide in the corners that they aren't looking in. This means the Forest will have no restraints. You can't go in there when it's like that. Especially while trying to avoid our professors who will be searching the area!"

"I can't just sit back and wait," Harry argued quietly. He hated to admit it, but with the realization that his previous encounters in the Forest had been PG-13 versions of its potential, he might have to do just that: sit back and wait. Especially while he couldn't use magic. It made him feel useless.

"You won't be doing nothing: you'll be researching. Ron and I will help," she reassured.

"Where _is_ Ron?"

Hermione's lips tightened. "I'm sure I have no idea," she answered pertly. Harry raised his pale eyebrows and stared at her. She sighed. "He's flirting with the wretch."

"Ahh," Harry said helpfully.

"I know!" Hermione said, seizing on his comment as if he had vindicated everything she ever thought about Lavender Brown.

"Hey Harry," Neville said, smiling as he approached their couch.

"Hey, Neville," Harry greeted in return.

"How'd it go?" Neville asked, casually sitting on the arm of the couch.

"How'd _what_ go?" Hermione's eyes narrowed.

Harry resisted the urge to smack Neville upside the head. _Oh well. It's not as if I could avoid the subject altogether. _"Malfoy and I had to get new wands today."

He could nearly see the calculation flash through the witch's eyes. "Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "The wand chooses the wizard, and with your transformations… you're not the same person your wand chose."

"Exactly."

"Where did you go? Ollivanders shut down …"

As they walked down to the Great Hall for dinner, Harry described Mr. Giordano to them. Hermione was fascinated to learn that Draco's magic stayed with his body, and Harry's with his body.

Ron joined them at the dinner table, giving a tiny wave with just his fingers to Lavender. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So, let's see it then," Hermione said briskly to Harry.

"See what?" Ron asked, mouth already stuffed with potatoes.

Harry pulled out his new wand.

"What unusual lettering…" Hermione said, looking closely. Mer-script was carefully engraved vertically down one edge.

"No way! You got a new wand?!" Ron said.

Ginny leaned across the table to look at it better. "It's really pretty. I've never seen blue in a wood before."

Harry quickly put it away.

"What's it made from?" Ginny asked.

_Fuck._ Harry was a terrible liar. He tried to remember his neutral-face, his give-away-nothing face. Malfoy's mask.

"Elder and Hawthorn interbreed, with a lung chamber from some sea creature I can't pronounce." He held his breath and tried to look nonchalant.

"I've read that when the core material is especially potent, it can affect the wood colour. But I've only heard of golds, reds, or silvers emerging," Hermione pointed out.

Harry tried a shrug, and said, "Dumbledore sent us to get something unusual, and I guess we did."

"It's really very irresponsible for you to not know the core of your own wand," Hermione scolded. "You need to ask Dumbledore permission to Floo call Mr. Giordano and write down the name straight away."

"Yeah, sure thing," Harry said, intending to never do that.

Two tawny brown Hogwarts owls swooped into the Hall.

"A little late for mail, isn't it?" Ginny wondered.

One perched on the wide glass stopper to a Butterbeer decanter at the Gryffindor table, its fiercely intelligent eyes digging into Harry as it delicately offered its tiny leg to him. The second perched on Draco's outstretched arm. Each bore a card the size you'd expect from a florist, and in purple ink was handwritten Dumbledore's request to meet in his office after dinner.

Harry groaned. He was sick of spending so much time with Malfoy. Harry offered a little bit of meat to the bird, which it gobbled as if it was a game to see how fast he could do it. The boy grinned, and the bird took off.

Harry shoved his plate aside. Everything tasted awful, which he assumed was from nerves and exhaustion. He just wanted this day to be done and over with.

* * *

><p>Draco was last to arrive at the Headmaster's office again. He would much prefer others wait for him than vice versa.<p>

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore began. "I am pleased to tell you that my first choice in private instructor has agreed to return to Hogwarts to guide you through your reintroduction to magic."

"What about our regular classes?" Draco asked.

"Those will be temporarily suspended."

A flash of panic went through Draco's green eyes. "But—sir, missing a day is one thing. How long are you expecting us to be held back? What about our grades? My father keeps a close eye…"

"We will have a better idea of how long you will require a private instructor once he has had the chance to gauge your current abilities. As for your grades," Dumbledore said, twinkle in his eye, "I will deflect your father's concerns by including a personal letter from myself remarking on your academic achievements."

Draco still looked concerned, but relaxed in his chair.

"Your studies will begin immediately after breakfast tomorrow, in the Dynamics room on the second floor. Bring parchment and quill, and patience with yourselves. Your day will be divvied into the same hours as your regular schedule would, the only difference being you return to the same room and the same professor between breaks.

"As for your professor…" Dumbledore beamed at Harry. "You will be welcoming Mr. Lupin's return."

Harry was excited—he had learned so much from Remus's brief one-year teaching at Hogwarts. No teacher had ever gotten through to him as expertly.

"What?!" Draco snarled. "He's no professor, he's a werewolf!"

"A man can be both," Dumbledore said sweetly. "In fact, it is his condition that makes him perfect for helping you. As a werewolf, he has experienced the struggle you both face: being bitten, and having your magic alter as a result of the transformation inflicted."

Draco was unimpressed.

"That's fantastic," Harry said. Finally, one thing was going right.

"Of course _you_ would think that," Draco said. "There have to be other options."

"None that I trust as implicitly, and none with the same level of expertise. Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid this will just have to be one of those things you need to accept."

"My father—"

"Won't know a thing about this. You would have no way of explaining the situation."

Draco was steaming. Harry laughed. Draco glared at him and spat a firely little "shut up" at the boy.

"I suggest you both get an early night's rest, for tomorrow will be more taxing than you may think."

* * *

><p>Back in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco retreated to his room. As he closed the door behind him, he automatically removed his wand to lock it—and then of course, realized he might not be able to.<p>

Nervous, he aimed the wand with more deliberation than he had ever used with this particular spell, and cast with as much concentration and clarity as possible. The doorknob rotated, a sick grinding noise as the inner latch tore through the wood of the door itself. It returned full circle to its original position. He hesitated, deeply uncomfortable. He didn't dare try again. Since he hadn't confessed to his Housemates that his magic had been affected, he would have to rely on the likelihood that they would assume his door was locked. Only First Years ever forgot; and they never made the same mistake twice.

He put his wand down on the nightstand and changed out of his school robes into silver satin pajamas. Walking over to the tiny set of shelves beside his closet, Draco opened the thick tome of Malfoy family history. He had tucked the stolen parchment from Potter's trunk in the center of its pages; removing it now, he sat on the edge of his bed and took up his wand again. He tapped it to the folded paper, and once more the gypsy script rolled across.

_Messer Moony would like to inform you that a stronger wand will not be of service to you for as long as it's held against us. Messer Padfoot is disgusted to be taken into Slytherin House, and even more repulsed that you've driven your stolen body to the dungeons as well. Messer Prongs agrees with Messers Moony and Padfoot; Messer Prongs threatens that any harm to this body will bring a curse from beyond the veil to your soul. Messer Wormtail would like to reminisce about how skinny little Narcissa Malfoy had always wanted a daughter, and how lucky she is to have gotten one in all but biology._

Draco's eyes narrowed.

_Messer Padfoot would like to contradict Messer Wormtail, as the biology in question is surely so tiny that it must fall on the borderline of definitions between the two sexes. Messer Moony would like to add that the midwife most likely suffered from macropsia, and upon seeing the infant clit mistakenly believed it to be a penis…Messer Prongs believes that would explain much about the scion of Malfoy, and points out that this could easily have gone undetected if Narcissa's only frame of reference for what a penis looks like is the tiny slug between her husband's legs._

Draco took his wand away and thought. _It knows who I am. It knows the names of my family. It understands what has happened, on some level, between me and Potter. It knows its location without being told. It is intelligent and has a grip on humour, it claims to have emotions and memories._

_It's fiercely loyal._

A knock at the door startled Draco from his thoughts. "It's me," Blaise called softly.

Draco got up, hid the parchment back in the Malfoy tome, and opened the door.

"Hey," Draco said shyly, inviting his boyfriend in and closing the door behind him.

Blaise stood awkwardly. "How you holding up?"

"Fine," Draco said, equally awkward. He didn't think he and Blaise had this much distance between them while alone together all summer. He just didn't know what to do—after all, he was in the enemy's body.

"Mind if I…?" Blaise motioned to the bed.

"Yeah, sure, sit," Draco said. He grabbed the chair from his desk and swung it to face the bed.

Blaise put his hand over Draco's, still holding the back of the chair. "Sit with me," he insisted. Draco let go of the chair, and let Blaise keep his hand as they sat beside each other.

"Now, enough with the trollshit," Blaise said quietly, a small smile curling his lips like ribbons on a present. "You're not 'fine'. You're jumpy, you're avoiding everyone. You can barely look me in the eye."

Challenged, Draco forced himself to defiantly look up at Blaise.

"That's a little better," he said. "But you haven't taught these eyes how to lie."

Draco gave a small laugh, flicked his gaze away. "Alright, you win. I'm not okay. I'm a halfblood, which is creepy enough, and this whole stupid situation puts my family at risk." Uncomfortable with how serious he had become, Draco flung a limp wrist against his forehead damsel-in-distress style and added: "And the worst part is, I'm absolutely hideous!"

Blaise took Draco's chin, turning it so that the boy faced him. "You're not hideous," he said. "I love you. Even if you looked like Filch."

Draco smiled. "You're a sick man," he teased, voice low.

"You wouldn't have it any other way," Blaise leaned in and kissed him.

Draco wanted to enjoy kissing his boyfriend. He wanted to pretend everything was fine. The kiss deepened, and Draco tried to concentrate on how good it felt instead of the confusing emotions it caused.

"You taste like apples," Blaise whispered against him.

Draco jerked away. "That's enough," he said harshly. "You're not kissing me."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're kissing Harry."

Blaise laughed incredulously. "I'm not thinking about him!"

"I don't care what you're thinking about when you kiss him, you're still kissing him."

"Draco-"

"Just go, alright? I'm tired."

Angry, Blaise slammed the door as he left.

Draco closed his eyes. _What just happened?_


	6. The First Lesson

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Trigger warning, recounting sexual abuse. 

* * *

><p>Harry arrived at the Dynamics room early the next day, hoping to get a chance to see Remus before Malfoy showed up. The room was empty. Student desks were crafted like theatre seats and built against the far wall.<p>

Malfoy arrived perfectly punctual, glaring at the room like it offended him. He strode to the centermost seat and lounged so effortlessly poised that Harry hated him just a little bit more. _He moves in my body better than I do. _Irritated, Harry chose a front row seat off to the far left.

It wasn't until the exact moment for classes to start that Remus walked into the room. "I'm going to begin by asking you both to sit next to each other," Remus said without ceremony. He strode to the front of the desks and placed a beaten up suitcase on the ground.

_Hi to you too,_ Harry thought sullenly.

Draco puffed up indignantly. "What does it matter where we sit?!"

"With a class size of two, I don't want you spaced so far apart. Also, for your first lesson, you will be required to sit near one another."

Both Harry and Draco refused to surrender territory.

"Alright," Remus continued. "Mr. Potter, move centre. Mr. Malfoy, come down to the front."

Harry noticed Remus was having trouble looking him in the eye. _Is he freaked out that I look like Malfoy? Or does he blame me for Sirius?_ Harry was hurt that Remus was being so distant, especially when Harry had been so excited to see him. He quietly grabbed his things and moved as instructed.

Picking up his parchment and pen with an embellished harassment, Draco muttered, "This is what happens when Hogwarts fails to hire a proper professor; we waste class time playing musical chairs."

"Save your righteousness, I daresay you will have plenty of real reason for it soon," Remus said quietly. Harry cocked his head, confused. Malfoy rolled his eyes, choosing the desk that left an empty seat between him and Harry.

"Witches and wizards are not able to manipulate the magic of others," Remus said, pacing slowly in front of them with his hands clasped behind his back. "I need you to understand that statement: we cannot use another's magic. Not even with the Imperious curse; that curse forces the person's mind to commit action they may otherwise not, physical and magical. But make no mistake, it is a leverage of the mind. You do not cast Imperious and have direct access to their magical core; rather, you cast, and you tell them what to do, and they are forced to obey.

"There are several rare instances where magical ability is transformed; certain diseases, infections such as lycanthropy and vampirism, but none so radical as the power of the Switch. You have each been given the ability to do something no one else can: to channel the magic of another.

"This will be an incredibly difficult feat. But magic wants to be used. This is why accidental magic occurs in untrained children; magic will jump and play, it is meant for release. That is your main advantage: the natural state of magic is one that encourages use.

"One of the main challenges you will face is that you can no longer command magic." Remus stopped to look at them briefly. "We are taught as we grow to 'use' magic; right now, you can only 'borrow' magic. It is not yours, and everything you cast is a request rather than a demand. You will learn to let go of the notion of control.

"Before we can get to any of that, however," Remus said hastily, "You must first understand your magic better. Mr. Malfoy can attest that it is pure blood tradition to study the components of your wand to best utilize it. Tapping successfully into a foreign magical core will require humility, understanding, and acceptance. You can't hate the person, the origin of the magic you wish to use, and expect it to work for you. Which brings us to our first lesson."

Remus knelt down and flicked open the stubby metal tabs on his suitcase. As he lifted the lid, Harry could see that it wasn't a briefcase after all—rather, like an instrument case, with specialized padding to form-fit the contents it was made for. Remus removed a purple crystal decanter, and two small shot glasses. He placed the three items carefully on the desk in between the two boys.

"This: our first lesson, the only lesson. There is no going forward without this."

Draco glared suspiciously at the purple decanter, clearly itching to examine its contents closer.

"This is specially brewed form of Veritiserum," Remus began. "It is formulated mainly for children. You take one shot, and you will truthfully answer one question—it wears off instantly once you've given sufficient answer. Contrary to the fuzzy-headed doll-like slump the full version gives the drinker, this version allows you to remain clear. The only side effect is that, for some answers, it will also force the truth of emotion to ring through. Some people have been known to weep or scream with it; this is normal, and you will be entirely calm again once the question has been answered."

"You can't be serious," Harry said. "I'm not taking Veritiserum around Malfoy, I don't care what kind it is."

"I am sorry, Harry," Remus said. He pulled two envelopes from his inside jacket pocket, and stared at them in his hands for a long time. Remus handed each boy an envelope. "I am giving you both a list of questions to ask the other. Questions regarding the body you are in, the home of the magic you want to call upon. It is the best way for you to learn…" He sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, it is vulgar for me to dig into your life with the express purpose of giving your secrets to another. Mr. Potter…Harry. It's unforgiveable for a friend to give away your secrets without consent; and it's so much worse for a friend to know these things and have done nothing except this trespass. I'm sorry. Both of you." He turned his back on his pupils. "You will remain in this room until you have completed the lesson." He left, and locked the door behind him.

"So that's that, then?!" Harry demanded, furious.

Draco was opening his envelope.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"At least attempt deductive reasoning," Draco said, scanning through the list of questions thoughtfully.

Harry tore open his envelope, not about to let Malfoy be the only one with access to whatever Remus wrote. "'Ask me about the time I died'?" Harry read aloud in astonishment.

"Who said you get to go first?!"

"We're not 'going' at all, I'm not answering any questions under Veritiserum with you."

"Potter, maybe you stopped paying attention, or maybe you simply aren't capable of complex thought without Granger around to spell it out for you. We cannot do magic without this. Accepting that wand will have been for nothing if you can't use it. If we have to sacrifice a little dignity in order to stop being relegated to squib level, then I'm willing to do it."

"There has to be another way," Harry muttered.

"Well, I could agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong." Draco read a little further, and then said, "Here's an easy one. Get the ball rolling. 'I have known starvation'. That's stupid, you're rich, why would you have ever gone without food?"

"I won't answer that."

"You will eventually. Lupin said we have to go through the whole sheet."

"Fuck you, fuck him, fuck the stupid question sheet, I'm not answering."

And so both Harry and Draco remained locked in the Dynamics room through all their breaks, missing their lunch hour, and well on their way approaching dinner time.

A small sheet of paper wriggled its way from under the door and flew up to Draco. He unfolded it and read aloud: "'If you each answer one question, I will have a House Elf bring you dinner. PS: I wouldn't recommend drinking much of anything. Professor Lupin.'" Draco crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it at Harry's head. "I'm hungry! I'm bored, I'm tired, I want to leave this stupid room. Stop being so stubborn!"

Harry felt Draco's stomach growl fiercely. This body has probably never been without in its lifetime, and it was not handling a skipped meal with any grace. _How long would Remus honestly keep them in here?_ Harry hadn't thought his friend would let them miss lunch…

"Do you really think I'm going to answer any of those questions, and trust you with them?!" Harry demanded, cranky.

"That's what this is about?! Trust?" Draco laughed. "Okay, I have an idea," Draco said eagerly, getting up and walking over to Harry. "We can't do an Unbreakable Vow without magic. We've been enemies for the last five years. We have no reason to believe in each other."

"Pretty much sums it up, yeah."

"But," Draco said, "We do know one thing about each other for certain. We both value family above ourselves. I propose we make an oath: We will not discuss anything learned in this godforsaken room with anyone but each other. On the graves of our mothers."

"Your mother is alive," Harry countered uneasily.

"You're so obtuse. The oath would threaten the peace of their afterlives. One day, my mother will die, and I do not want her spirit spending any time in misery because her son is an oath-breaker."

Harry stared at Draco. "You mean it?" He was searching Draco's eyes, the all-too familiar green of Lily's legacy. Draco stuck out his hand. Harry remembered Draco doing this in their First Year, back when he offered friendship; how Harry had refused him. Now here was Draco, hand out with the same vulnerability that he had rebuked years ago…only this time, Draco's offer was Harry's hand lingering in the air, waiting. It was surreal. Harry reached out and shook.

"So mote it be," Draco whispered. "Say it," he said, squeezing Harry's hand.

"So mote it be," Harry repeated.

The boys separated, and sat down at their desks.

"I'm still going first," Draco said.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Alright. Since you've kept us hungry all day, let's start with 'I have known starvation'. What in the name of Morgana is that all about?"

Harry sucked a breath between his teeth. _This has to be the worst question on that list for me. If I just answer it now, I can breeze through everything else…_ Harry reached forward and took the lid off the decanter, pouring the tiny shot glass full. He violently slugged back the liquid, not giving himself a chance to think about it.

"I live with my aunt, my uncle, and my cousin," the words tumbled forth as he set the glass down again. "They're muggles, a side of the family who disowned my mother for being a witch. When they were forced to take me in, they hated me for being "a freak". All my life, I would go for days at a time without food. My door was always locked from the outside, so I could never sneak out and steal food. After my First Year at Hogwarts, I snuck in some treats from the Hogwarts Express cart. But Uncle Vernon searched my trunk when we got home…and a chocolate frog leaped out and landed on his head. Nearly gave him heart failure. He was so furious that I 'tried to trick them' and brought 'dangerous monstrosities' into their home, that he decided to teach me a lesson. He grabbed me by my hair, which was his favourite way to subdue me, and dragged me into the kitchen. He called me a worm, a filthy soulless worm, and told me I'd eat like a worm. He took fistfuls of dirt from my Aunt's plant bed, and forced me to eat dirt. He locked me back in my room and laughed when I vomited, telling me to enjoy my stink. They constantly starve me, to this day, and I've never told anyone and I can't believe that _Remus knew all along and still agreed to leave me there._" Harry's racing heart was slowly beginning to return to normal speed with the completion of the question.

Harry cautiously looked at Draco, uncertain what mockery would follow. Draco looked stunned. "And these are the people you champion?" Draco asked softly, incredulously. "The Dark Lord wants these people to answer for the crimes of their ancestors, for the crimes they would continue to commit if they knew about us. They brutalize you and you still fight for them?"

"Because the Dursleys are not all muggles," Harry said. "There's the muggle teacher who saw I needed glasses, and from her own pocket money, bought me this pair. She was practically a stranger, and she took care of me. There's people like Hermione's parents, who are good and loving…there are so many muggles worth fighting for."

Draco shook his head. "Anyone would be willing to take you in. Why are you living with them?"

"My turn to ask a question," Harry said evasively. He took out the paper from his pants pocket and flattened it out. "Okay, 'Ask me about my first bout of accidental magic'."

A tiny smile, and Draco daintily poured his shot glass full. "Alright," he agreed, drinking it in one long swallow. "I was four years old. We have a family tradition on Thursday evenings, to read to each other at the fires in our library. Obviously when I was that young my parents would take turns reading to me. Well. Father had promised to read my favourite story to me that night, and I'd been looking forward to it for days…and then, Father received an owl telling him they had an emergency board meeting that he was urgently needed for. I was so devastated and heart broken, I started crying, and I shouted, 'No! It's time for you to be Archer Arboron!' –because he always read the voice so perfectly, it was like he really was the character. And suddenly he _was_ the character—I had transformed his clothes. Mother was furious, but Father was so damn proud. He swung me around the room and kept admiring all the details I had recreated. He sent the owl back telling the board they would have to do without him for one meeting, and he spent the rest of the night playing pretend with me. It's my favourite memory of him, and it's the only time he ever really played with me…" Draco cleared his throat as the potion wore off. "Ignore that last part, it was irrelevant."

Harry smiled. "Do you still read together on Thursdays?"

Draco bristled, unsure if he was being teased. "Yes. Half an hour after dinner we reconvene in the library. Each night a different person reads aloud, and we all drink wine by the fire, and after the reading we discuss the story."

Harry was smiling wistfully. "That sounds perfect."

Draco wasn't sure what to say to that, after hearing about the muggle monsters Harry put up with.

A crack startled them both, and suddenly there was Dobby with two plates full of food. "Master Harry?" he questioned, taking a tentative step towards Harry, looking fearfully at the face of his old master.

"Yeah, Dobby, it's me."

"Oh, Master Harry! Dobby is so sorry for this terrible thing to be happening to you! If there's anything, anything at all that Dobby can do to help…?"

"Uh, no, that's just fine Dobby," Harry said quickly.

Dobby put both plates on their respective tables, and gripped Harry's hand earnestly. "Master Harry _will_ let Dobby know, yes?"

"Of course, Dobby-"

"Dobby will rally the other Elves, and we will go into the Forest!"

"That's a bad idea, I don't want any of you getting hurt."

Draco rolled his eyes at this as he ate.

"Oh! Master Harry Potter is too kind!" Dobby threw his stick-like little arms around Harry. "His fate is in peril, and he only has worry for Dobby and the other Elves!" Dobby squeezed tighter and then released Harry. "We will not let you languish, Master Harry Potter!" And with another crack, Dobby disappeared again.

"You really need to break up with that crazy elf," Draco said between bites. "I'm pretty sure he's picking out curtains."

"Ew," Harry muttered. "Dobby's not crazy, he's just been horribly abused by his previous owners." He glared hard at Draco.

"Hey, I was _twelve_," Draco said. "He annoyed me, and I was told he was my slave. Okay, I made him do some pretty shitty things. But I didn't get it back then."

"And you do now?"

"I still find him wretchedly annoying, but now I'd simply trade him for a proper elf instead of tormenting him."

"That's not getting it. No creature deserves enslavement."

"There you go again, forcing your ideas of morality on cultures you don't understand. Do your research on House Elves in relation to ethical relativism and pragmatic ethics, and get back to me when you can intelligently debate instead of whine on without the facts."

Harry was stumped, so he pretended to righteously ignore Draco and focus on his dinner.

"My turn for a question," Draco said, picking lightly at his food and scanning his list.

"Just read from the top," Harry complained.

"That's lazy," Draco said. "Oh…this can't be right." He glared up at Harry, stared back at the parchment, thinking.

"What?" Harry asked.

Shrewdly, Draco watched Harry as he read, "It says here, 'Ask me about blood magic protection'."

Harry choked on his food. _How dare Remus put that down! That is something helping them in this war, not to be told to the son of a Death Eater!_

"You're right, that's a mistake," Harry said, forcing himself to swallow past the obstruction.

"Take a drink and say that," Draco said, filling Harry's shot glass from the decanter.

_Fuck._ Harry hesitated. _Remus thinks he needs to know…so I guess it's alright…_ Harry drank the shot. "It's not a mistake," he corrected himself. "Dumbledore explained to me that the reason I survived the killing curse was because my mother died to save my life, and that created a blood protection spell. It's why I'm still living with the Dursleys, because through my mother's blood I can still find sanctuary."

Draco stared at Harry. "That doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

Draco scoffed. "Potter, think of how many mothers have died for their children over the years. No one has ever been able to resist a direct hit from the killing curse."

Harry's brows furrowed.

"Dumbledore is taking advantage of the ignorance he imposed on you about our world. He made sure you grew up like a muggleborn, entirely unaware of our world until you came into Hogwarts under his thumb. Blood magic is extremely powerful, and while lineage affects blood magic, lineage alone does not create blood magic. Dumbledore is not telling you the truth."

Harry thought about Draco's words. _They made sense._ He had to admit to himself that Dumbledore had only given him nuggets of information through the years, information he should have had in totality the moment Voldemort resurfaced. Dumbledore was still doling out information, like treats. He had explained to Harry that they would have private meetings to review pensieves that would help them learn how to defeat Voldemort. Which meant, by admittance, that Dumbledore continued to keep secrets and manipulate Harry.

_What the hell do I do now?_

"My turn," Harry said, fumbling with his question sheet.

"If Dumbledore is claiming you have blood magic protection," Draco pressed, "Then we need to know for sure. We need to know what it does, what it is." Draco took a deep breath. "I know how we could do it. But with neither of us able to perform magic yet…We'd need help."

Harry thought about this. "Hermione-"

"—would freak out about blood magic. Potter, it's often dark magic. She's too by-the-book."

Harry wanted to argue in defense of his friend, but Malfoy was right.

"Pansy."

"No."

"Potter, she's brilliant. I swear, she could do this."

"I'm not letting one of your cronies learn what protection I may or may not have and go reporting it to Voldemort!"

The slap caught Harry entirely off guard. Shocked, he felt his cheek as it quickly heated from the force.

"Do not use my mouth to say his name," Draco said quietly.

Harry leaned in closer, holding his fork in his hand. "Voldemort."

"Potter, I'm warning you-"

"And I'm warning _you._ Don't ever strike me again. Have you ever had to muggle brawl? I have. I will end you."

Draco quickly began to recalculate the situation, and not liking his odds, he sat back and raised his hands in the air. "Alright. We have an understanding." He lowered his hands. "You don't say the name, I don't smack you silly."

"I say whatever the fuck I want, you don't touch me unless you want to be beaten senseless."

"New deal," Draco haggled. "You don't say his name, and I refrain from saying mudblood. I bet it would give Granger nightmares to hear your voice calling her that…"

"You leave Hermione alone!"

"So you agree to the new deal?"

Harry thought about it. It irked him to not use Voldemort's name, to give him that power. But eliminating hate-speech was tempting… "For now," Harry agreed.

"Okay. Wanna put the fork down? You look like a deranged Hufflepuff."

Harry smirked and put his fork down, shoving his plate to the side of his desk.

"So about Pansy-"

"That time I said no? Still stands."

"Well, then who do you suggest?!"

Harry thought about it. "Remus," he said.

"What."

"Remus. It's perfect. Obviously he knows Dumbledore is lying, and purposely keeping us from information we need. He stayed silent when it was just me," Harry added bitterly, "But if you literally can't do magic without knowing, then he has to help. And he knows it. That's why he put the question on your list!"

Draco groaned and threw his head back dramatically. "Why did it have to be the werewolf…?"

"He's a good man," Harry defended. "He's clever, and a brilliant teacher if you give him a chance."

"Do you honestly think he'll go against Dumbledore?"

"Hasn't he already?"

Draco was quiet. He really, _really_, did not want to have to rely on the man-beast. But he had to admit, Lupin was their best compromise, and he did seem to already want to assist them…

"Fine," Draco gave in. Harry beamed at him. "We still have questions to finish, Potter."

"Right."

"…and it's your turn…"

"Oh! Right," Harry looked down at his sheet. "Okay, this one's been bugging me. 'Ask me about the time I died'. What the hell, Malfoy."

Draco laughed and drank the potion. "I was born dead."

"Excuse me?"

"I was stillborn. Healer Selena worked over me for minutes, which in that type of situation is ages. Suddenly I gulped some air, opened my eyes, and never cried. Mother couldn't believe I came back. The way she tells it, Father nearly fainted from relief. Of course, Father says he bellowed 'That's my boy!' and shook the Healer's hand. In any case, the time I died was the time I was born. Mother sends Healer Selena flowers every year on my birthday."

They went through a multitude of questions like this. Harry was embarrassed to admit to living in a cupboard for ten years, and Draco's snobbishness didn't help; but he didn't really care about answering questions regarding his eyesight or his own accidental magic. Draco didn't understand the other boy's disgust when he was answered about inbreeding through the Malfoy line. He was unperturbed recalling a difficult childhood illness, and laughed when he had to admit to the time he, Crabbe, and Goyle had magicked his dorm room floor and walls to be bouncy back in Year One, and after ricocheting off the walls, ground, and ceiling for the longest time Crabbe landed on Draco's face and he had to inform Madam Pomfrey that Crabbe had stepped on his nose and broken it.

"She never understood how that could have happened, but we all stuck to our story so vehemently… 'He stepped on my nose', how stupid…" Both he and Harry were laughing. "I was just so freaked out by the blood, and how much it _hurt_, that I didn't even try to think of a good lie!"

"I still can't believe you assholes get your own dorm rooms," Harry said with a laugh.

"Yes well, the best do tend to get certain privileges that aren't afforded to the masses…"

Harry threw a crust of bread from his left-over dinner plate at him.

"You dick," Draco said, discarding the chunk of bread and flicking away the overboard crumbs. "Last question, _finally_. Please tell me this is even, you only have one more right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, amused at Draco's fastidiousness as he continued to pick and flick real and imagined food offenses from his robe.

"Okay. It says, 'Ask me about my scar'. That's a waste of a question. Everyone knows about your scar."

Harry slugged back his shot, and said, "They know how I got it, but they don't know what it does."

Draco tensed up. "What, can it change colour to match your outfits or reflect your moods or something?" Draco said, trying to hide his anxiety behind jokes.

"No," Harry said, forced to answer the joke as the Veritiserum continued through him. "It connects me to –_him—_to Voldemort. I'm sorry, it's making me say his name," Harry added quickly, seeing the brimstone in Draco's eyes. Draco relaxed a notch. "I managed to close my mind to him last summer…after Sirius died. But before, I could see visions of what he was doing, and he could force fake visions into my dreams…" Harry exhaled loudly.

"How did you accomplish this?" Draco asked darkly.

"What?"

"How did you close your connection to him? Was it a potion?"

"No, I had to learn Occlumency-"

Draco swore. "Damnit, Potter. _I can't do magic._"

Harry froze.

"Could he see you? Did he have visions of you?"

"We don't think so, no. He would have acted if he had," Harry said quickly.

Silence. "Lupin had better be as good a teacher as you claim," Draco said. "I can't have windows in my head open to the Dark Lord. If he ever learned how to look in…Potter, he would kill my family if he knew about any of this."

"He's not going to find out," Harry said.

Draco rubbed the lightning bolt scar thoughtfully. "Just go, ask your last question."

"Okay…" Harry hated that his body was putting someone else's family in danger. "It just says, 'Ask about my eleventh birthday'."

Draco's head snapped up and the colour drained from his face. "No," he whispered.

"No what?"

"How could he possibly…" Draco trailed off. "I can't answer that."

Harry sighed. "Think of all the shit I had to tell you today. You can answer about your birthday party."

"It wasn't a party," Draco said. "And I can't-I've never-I'm not telling you."

"Malfoy," Harry started, irritated.

"No," Draco repeated, fear lancing through anger. "I'm sorry Potter. It's been fun, but question time is over. I'm not answering."

Harry paused. "If you don't answer, I can't do magic."

"This isn't an exact science. I'm sure you can do magic with everything else you've learned about that body. You don't need to know every little thing."

"This sounds major."

"I said no." Draco pushed up from his chair, walking over to the door. It remained locked. He started knocking, then banging and kicking, screaming at the structure that he was _done_ and that Remus had _no right_.

Harry went over to the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. Draco spun around, wild eyed. "I can't, Potter. Don't ask."

"How much do you want to be back in your own body?" Harry asked.

"More than anything," Draco said, trying to calm down.

Harry hated himself a little, as Draco stepped willingly into the trap. _Has to be done,_ Harry's Slytherin side whispered.

"You said yesterday that I'm a pivotal figure in the war. That's true. If I face the Dark Lord without magic...he will kill me. And you will lose your body forever."

Harry couldn't remember seeing his own face so young looking, so deeply ashamed and scared.

He waited as Draco digested this. Slowly, Draco walked back to their desks. Harry followed.

"I need-" Draco cleared his throat, trying again. "I need you to not look at me. You can watch me take the shot, and then just turn your back okay?"

"Okay," Harry said. His gut twisted with guilt.

Draco's hand shook as he poured from the decanter.

"Do you need-?" Harry started.

"I got it." Draco set the purple crystal decanter down with a heavy thud. Hands leaning on the desk's edge, he took a deep breath. "You remember your oath, yeah?"

"Of course," Harry said.

"Well, this one includes me. I don't want you ever talking to me about this. This never gets brought up again."

"Alright," Harry said quietly. "Unless it's blocking my ability to relearn magic-"

"_Fine, UNLESS." _Draco spat, hating the caveat.

"Alright," Harry agreed again.

Draco picked up the shot glass, and said quietly, "You'll remember to turn around?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Draco drank it down, and threw the tiny glass to the ground, shattered. Harry flinched, and turned.

"Pure blood families adhere to certain traditions," Draco started, voice low and quiet. Harry had to strain to listen.

"One of those is called the Preparation." _I can't, I can't…_But Veriteserum is always stronger than will. "When the family is seriously considering an appropriate betrothal for their child, they submit that child for sexual learning with a professional. So that child can please their future spouse, and therefore be of greater value in the betrothal bargaining process.

"My eleventh birthday," Draco's voice faltered out entirely. The potion pumped harder, and forced his voice open again. "My eleventh birthday, Father had hired someone for me. Eleven is the year we truly grow up, the year Hogwarts opens its doors to us; the year the Ministry considers us responsible and ready for magical training. Father felt that eleven was auspicious.

"He didn't explain anything beforehand. No one did. I didn't even know what sex was, or that girls had anything different than us down there. It was never spoken. Sure, I had started masturbating, and thinking of blokes…but it was innocent. It was discovering pleasure. I didn't know about sex, I just thought about kissing, petting.

"Father led me into a room of the manor that was built specifically for the Preparation. I had never been allowed in there before, and when I walked in it was so red. The walls, the roses, the blankets…everything, red.

"He told me to go inside and to listen to my teacher, that she was going to help me. He told me to do whatever she asked. And he left me there.

"This older woman walks in. She's maybe eight years younger than my parents. She starts…" Draco felt everything, fresh as if it were happening right that moment. His whole body trembled, and he quickly sat down before his legs gave out. "She starts undressing. And I thought it was funny. And…suddenly, everything was wrong. She breathed in my ear as she took my clothes, and I pushed her away…But then she kept saying this is what my Father wants. Do I want to make him proud, or do I want to make him angry…? I felt so sick, I…I didn't know what to do. So I let her, do whatever. And I just stood there, crying like an idiot. When she couldn't get me to, ah, respond...no matter what she did to it…she asked me if I had a type. That's when I discovered she was a metamorphmageous. I had never met one before, and watching such impressive magic helped calm me. I watched her transform to a schoolgirl, to a celebrity, to a Quidditch gal, stroking my soft cock the whole time and my body just refusing any interest. Then, she transformed into a man. I think she just wanted me to stop crying, I think she did it hoping to make me laugh. But…my cock twitched. The image of this naked man excited me, even though I desperately didn't want to be there. I just reacted. And she laughed at me.

"She said my future wife was likely to get a lot of ass-fucking if my inclinations were anything to go by, and that she'd be doing her a favour to teach me what it felt like. She tried to put a finger inside of me, and I screamed. Father came in, and she stood up and told him 'Your son is a queer', and stormed out." Silent tears tracked Draco's face as he whispered, "He looked at me, and asked if it was true. When I said yes…he looked so disappointed. He stood there in the doorway, and told me we don't ever need to discuss this. To get dressed for dinner. And he left me there."

Draco rubbed his hands over his face, trying to quell the crying. After a long pause, Harry whispered, "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't," Draco said, voice shaking. "Just don't." He took a deep breath. "At least it postponed his betrothal decisions. His stock is a lower value than he had thought, so he had to review options…" He looked down at the desk, and saw both his and Harry's question sheets had begun to glow softly. "Look at this," he said, motioning to the parchment.

Harry turned, and his brow furrowed at seeing the papers glowing. "Why are they doing that?"

"Probably lets the wolf know we're done," Draco said, struggling to get his voice steady again.

Harry didn't have the heart to berate Draco for his prejudice. He didn't know what to say at all. He put his hand over Draco's. "Thank you," he said.

"I did it for me, Potter," Draco said. But he didn't move his hand. Harry smiled.

The door opened, and both boys drew their hands back as if they'd been burnt. Remus walked up to them, guilt and worry clearly in his eyes. "It's done, then," Remus said quietly.

Draco slowly turned to look at him. It was disturbing, the deliberate slowness, the cool controlled movements and stone-like precision of every hardened muscle in his face, contrasting with his eyes. His eyes, wielding hatred and rectitude like twin swords, flashing in the moment before the killing strike. "How did you get information about my eleventh birthday?" The question was insouciantly posed, but buried in every syllable was blood.

Remus did not try to dodge the subject or make excuses. "With you being a pureblood, I knew you would have had to go through the Preparation; and since you're only a year away from being a legal adult, I assumed you had already crossed this threshold. It was easy to track down the woman and question her. I thought I was simply going to learn when you lost your virginity; she alluded that more had happened. To her credit, she refused to answer my questions. I had to use Legilimency against her."

Draco took a hard breath. "You obliviated her after, right? If you didn't, she'll run straight to my Father-"

"I did."

Draco stared at Remus for a long time, calculating something the two Gryffindors couldn't read. Finally, he said to Harry, "He's resourceful. He'll do."

Remus looked confused. He was expecting significantly more backlash than the cryptic comment.

"You gave us the question about blood magic protection," Harry stated. "Will you help us get to the bottom of it?"

The man nodded, relieved. "It's necessary," he said. He was grateful the boys had jumped a step ahead of him, seeking his assistance before he had to impose it. Their willingness to ask him for help was a form of forgiveness. "Blood magic is tricky, and if you're unsure of it…it can go very bad, very quickly."

"Why did Dumbledore lie about it?" Harry asked. The question slipped and fell hard.

Remus sighed. "I don't know, Harry. Honestly," he said, seeing the suspicion across them both. "He only told me because he thought you might ask me about it. I don't know why he wants you to believe it, and I don't know what it's covering up. But if I know Albus, he would not want you unravelling his deception, even if he knew Mr. Malfoy could not access magic without doing so. If we're going to do this, I need you both to swear to not confront him with it."

Harry furrowed his brow, unsure if he was okay with that provision. Draco nodded, saying, "It's better for us that way. We have more power if he doesn't realize we escaped his ruse."

"Then it's settled? We'll explore this next class," Remus said. Both boys agreed.

* * *

><p>When Draco entered the Slytherin dungeons, he went directly to his room. The night was late, and he felt raw, gutted. He went straight to his room, ignoring the protests from his friends who hadn't seen him all day, ignoring that Blaise was ignoring him.<p>

But despite his efforts, he couldn't sleep. Swaddled in the blankets, he didn't feel safe. He got up and shoved his dresser in front of his door, thinking his unease came from not being able to lock it. But no; he remained hyper-aware of everything, an almost panicked sensation creeping through him. He snarled, beating a fist against his pillow, trying to expel the savagery closing its teeth against his heart. The humiliation, pain and anger from exposing his worst memory kept gnashing him to pulp. Suddenly, Harry's words came into his head, about living in a cupboard for a decade: _Sometimes, I actually miss it,_ he had admitted, _because it was actually mine. I sleep in Dudley's second bedroom, and it will never be mine. At least that cupboard was a home to me._ Grabbing his pillow, Draco got up and went to his wardrobe, climbed inside, and closed the door behind him.

His whole body relaxed. A part of him felt at home, and recognized this small space as safe. Draco smiled as he drifted off to sleep.


	7. Frustration

Despite it being a weekend, Harry woke painfully early. He was determined to use the shower stalls with privacy. As he slid his bed-curtains aside and padded quietly to the showers, he felt like he was forgetting something…and then he realized what was nagging at his mind. His glasses. It had been routine for so long to wake up and automatically reach for his glasses…but of course, Draco's body didn't need them, and didn't know to reach for them.

He stripped down and stepped into the shower stall nearest the door. He figured that way, when he stepped out again to get his towel, if the main door began to open he could just push against it.

_Stupid fucking Justin,_ he thought to himself as he turned the water on. By the time Harry had returned to Gryffindor tower last night, Justin had rallied Seamus, McLaggen, _and even Ron_ into his campaign to have a laugh at Malfoy's equipment. Harry had snarled at them to knock it off and stormed to his bed. He knew they all had reason to hate Malfoy, and all they saw was this huge opportunity to really get to the git. _But they didn't hear him last night._ The thought startled Harry. He reached for the shampoo, his brows furrowed, wondering at the quiet change from "I don't want them to harass me" to protecting Malfoy.

The main door flung open. Harry almost slipped, he was so startled, but the two boys who entered had zero interest in anyone using the first stall. Harry listened to them hurriedly pulling pajamas off each other as they laughed, the unmistakable sound of sloppy kissing as they tumbled into a single shower stall. "I think someone's here," one of the boys said. Harry was pretty sure it was a Seventh Year guy, Stanson-something. "Who cares? -if he wants to stay he can buy tickets to the show!" More laughter, then moaning.

Harry dunked his soapy hair in the water and barely remembered to turn off the taps as he threw his towel around his waist, grabbed his pajamas and ran out.

Still soaking wet, with patches of shampoo suds polka dotting his hair, Harry quickly stepped into the bathroom adjoined to the Sixth Year boy's room. He dried himself off, awkwardly angled his head in the sink to get the last of the shampoo out, and towel-buffed his hair.

More problematic, however, was his erection.

He couldn't get the sounds and shadows of those boys out of his head. _Stop it,_ he told himself. _You like women. Malfoy likes men. Don't feel his reactions. Stop it._ But Draco's body was just as stubborn as his personality. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. Unconsciously, his left hand slowly moved closer to his groin—he paused, realizing what he was doing—his hand hovered, so close. He ached for it.

He punched the wall as hard as he could. Immediately, his cock stopped swelling as his knuckles began. A faint purple could already be seen, and he couldn't flex his fingers all the way.

Harry, towel around his waist and only one-handed, left to clumsily grab some muggle clothes and returned to the bathroom to get changed. He was horribly frustrated trying to do up the button on his jeans while his dominant hand was stiff and painful. When he was finally dressed, he went downstairs to wait for Hermione. He needed her to heal his quite possibly broken hand.

Hermione, born a morning-person, came downstairs early as usual—about half an hour after Harry had chosen to wait for her.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said, standing up quickly. He was grateful no one else had come downstairs yet.

"Harry! What are you doing up?"

"Actually, I need your help," he said quickly, moving towards the couch so they could sit together.

"Of course," she said, walking to the couch and taking a seat. "I was just heading to the library before breakfast. Is this about last night? Ronald was positively horrid."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they're being berks. But whatever, I can handle them." Harry hesitated uncomfortably. "What I need to ask is pretty private, could you cast for us? You know, in case someone comes down?"

Hermione pulled out her wand. "Muffliato," she said. "Now you have me worried. What's going on?"

Harry held out his injured hand. "Well, first, I-"

"Harry what did you do?!"

"I was-"

"Oh my god Harry, I think it's broken!"

"Yeah, it's pretty—"

"Were you fighting?!"

"Hermione!" Harry said with a laugh. "Take a breath! No, I wasn't fighting!"

Hermione, looking sheepish, gently took his hand and looked at it closer. She took her wand from the special hip holster Ron had gotten her for her birthday, and cast the healing charm across his knuckles. Harry sighed in relief, flexing his hand appreciatively.

"Thanks," he said.

"What happened?" she pressed.

"I punched a wall."

"Why on earth did you do that?!"

"That's…the private part," Harry started. "Look, I wasn't going to tell anyone this, so you gotta swear to keep it to yourself, yeah?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Does Ron already know?" Harry could sense the danger in that question.

"Ron is the last person I would want to know."

Hermione put her wand back in its holster thoughtfully. "Well, I'm glad you two weren't keeping me out, but I feel bad turning around and keeping him out…"

"Please, Hermione," Harry said. "I really need you, and he can't know. This is Malfoy's secret. You know Ron, he wouldn't keep it."

"Why do you care about keeping Malfoy's secret?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Harry struggled with words for a moment. "This stupid mess is my fault, and I wouldn't have known this if we'd never switched bodies…"

"Harry, it's not your fault."

"Look, if everything were normal and I somehow found it, I'd probably tell Ron. But things are different, and I feel responsible. And Malfoy's trusting me to keep it on the down-low."

"He's trusting you, really? You believe that?"

"Okay, his exact words were 'counting on my insufferable Gryffindor chivalry', but for him that's like trust."

Hermione smirked. She thought a moment, indecisive…but she wanted to help Harry. "Okay," she said. "I promise."

"Alright," Harry said, taking a breath. "Malfoy's gay."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah. So…I need you to help me find a spell or a potion or something that can, you know, turn off sexual attraction. Temporarily. Cuz…with me being in his body…"

"Oh my god," she said, grinning. "You feel….for guys?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "That's where the punching-the-wall thing stems from. I needed distraction. Badly."

"From who?" Hermione asked saucily.

"Two blokes wanting an early shag in the showers."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Is that a thing that happens regularly?!"

"How should I know? I don't usually go in the men's showers at sneaky hours of the morning and night!"

"Okay, okay," Hermione said. "I haven't heard of something to turn off attraction. But if Amortentia exists, which compels lust, it stands to reason that its opposite would exist. I'll look into it."

"You're the best. I knew I could count on you."

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. Harry started to stand up. "Wait!" Hermione said, standing with him, not wanting to break the privacy charm as a handful of Gryffindors had come downstairs during their conversation. "So…right now, in Malfoy's body, you like boys."

"I feel what he feels, yes." Harry said, feeling defensive and trying to clarify.

"Right," Hermione said. "Do you still like girls?"

"Yeah. I do. I always have."

"But you've never liked boys, before...?"

"No," Harry said, although the direct question made him internally pause; he realized he had simply never thought about it before. His crushes were few and far between, really only including Cho and Ginny. _Could a guy ever make the list? _He shoved the momentary confusion to the side. "No way," he repeated. "I'm straight."

"The lady doth protest too much," teased Hermione with a curious smile as she left.

"I'm not a lady!" Harry reflexively retorted, not recognizing the quote-only to realize that the common room could hear him again. The fifth year girls who sat gathered together with their Divination tea cups started giggling at him.

"Keep laughing, and your tea leaves will all feature the Grimm," Harry snapped as he went back up the boy's staircase.

At breakfast later that morning, Harry didn't even make it to the Gryffindor table before trouble.

"Potter!" Draco huffed, standing in front of him.

Harry sighed. "Not now, Malfoy, I've had a really shitastic morning-"

"You shave."

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Um, yeah?"

"You selfish, stupid, muggle-raised bastard!"

"I'm missing something."

"Yeah, it's called a brain," Draco sneered. "Great Merlin, Potter! When you enter our world, you should damn well learn how to function in it! Do you know how many times I cut myself this morning, because you don't practice general grooming charms?!" Harry barely opened his mouth before Draco was continuing his rant. "Twelve. Twelve times! I've never been so humiliated! I had to get Goyle to heal my face—your stupid face! So I wouldn't have to be seen with disgusting bleeding sores all over!"

"You never learned how to shave?" Harry said with a laugh.

"Of course not! It's vulgar, and not nearly precise enough for my complexion."

Harry snorted. "Oh, my god."

"It's simple, Potter. You do a charm once a month, it takes two hours-"

"More like twelve, when you're Draco," Blaise said over Draco's shoulder. Draco scowled at him in annoyance as the boy chuckled and walked off. _He ignores me, then makes fun of me in public?_

"TWO HOURS," Draco repeated at Blaise's back. He looked at Harry again. "-And you're perfectly smooth for the rest of the month. But oh no. Your ignorance means I have to SHAVE, every day, like a commoner!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, sucks to be you, then."

"This is all your fault," Draco said, storming off to the Slytherin table.

Harry let out a frustrated growl as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. No one could get under his skin the way that jackass could. _Literally_, Harry thought with sardonic bite. He wondered if the Switch chose them because they could affect each other so strongly…

He sat across from Ginny, and she smiled at him. "Ready for Quidditch practice?" She asked. "God, yes," Harry said. He couldn't wait to be on a broom, vent some of his anger in the air. It was different, being Captain, but he was still eager.

"Hey mate," Ron said as he sat next to Harry. Harry glared at his best friend.

"You jump on the band wagon with those assholes who want me to strip down so you can all have a good laugh, and now you're my mate. Really?"

"Yeah Ron," Ginny said. "One Weasley wanting his pants off at a time, and I called dibs." She winked at Harry. Harry smirked at her. _How come she started making all these jokes now that I'm in Malfoy's body? _He liked it, but it was strange and made him uncomfortable at the same time.

"Ginny, your fixation was cute in Year One. But now it's gross. Stop it," Ron said.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him.

"And Harry," Ron said, clapping a hand on his back. "Don't get so worked up. It's just a lark, yeah? You'd do the same if I had switched bodies with him."

"No, I wouldn't. Because I respect you."

"This is so not about you!" Ron said, laughing.

"Being in this body makes me disagree," Harry argued moodily.

Ron loaded more food on his plate. "Are you and Hermione on the same cycle or something? She's been pissy with me too."

Ron froze as a shrilled voice behind him answered, "Maybe 'she's been pissy' because you're too busy snogging Lavender and leaving me to do all our Prefect duties alone!" Hermione sat on the other side of Harry, absolutely furious.

"Hermione, I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter. I don't care. I don't know why I expect anything better from you anyway."

Harry seldomly felt as awkward as he did sitting in between his two best friends when they were fighting.

Lavender, having snuck up behind Ron, put her tiny hands across his eyes. "Guess whooooo," she sang.

Ron sighed. "Lav, not now-"

"You guessed right!" She chirped, swinging herself into his lap and giggling. Ron smiled at her, enjoying the positive attention centered so solely on him. _Better than getting chewed out by Hermione. _He teasingly admonished that he couldn't possibly eat his breakfast with her in his lap. Lavender picked up a bowl of fruit salad and began hand-feeding him pieces.

"If you'll excuse me," Hermione said quietly, getting up again without having eaten anything. Harry quickly gathered a croissant into a napkin for Hermione and hurried after his friend.

* * *

><p>Having comforted Hermione longer than he realized, Harry was now late to Quidditch practice. It was going to be hard enough to get the team to rally to him as their Captain while he looked like their competition, and now he's not even on time. Great.<p>

He stopped short when he got to the pitch: there was his team, fuming…

And there was the Slytherin team. Practicing.

"What's this?!" Harry demanded as he entered the field.

"That's what we were going to ask you!" Demelza said.

"Harry, the signup sheet says you cancelled practice," Katie explained.

"Which he wouldn't do without telling us!" Ron argued.

"He didn't know anything about it being cancelled!" Ginny defended.

"Oi, it's your signature, mate," Jimmy Peakes piped up.

"Let me see," Harry said, storming over to the signup post. There was his signature, cancelling the meet.

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted. Draco flew down and walked up to Harry, looking smugly victorious.

"Now, now, Potter. Don't go blaming others for your regrets."

"I didn't cancel. You did!"

"Not according to the sign up post."

"YOU have my handwriting!" Harry spat. "You just backdated it and then had Urquhart sign your team up!"

"Interesting theory. Too bad it can't be proved."

"You are such a miserable cheat!"

"I'd love to stay and swap insults, but my team has a practice to be getting on with." And with that, Draco kicked off and flew back up to his team mates, who were laughing and whooping at having driven the Gryffindors off the pitch.

"Some Captain," Ritchie Coote muttered as he and Peakes left.

"Wood never would have let such a ridiculous scam happen," Katie whispered to Demelza as they left.

"It's MALFOY'S FAULT, not Harry's!" Ron shouted after them. "Blimey, you'd figure they would see that."

Ginny shook her head. "Pay no attention to them Harry. They'll come around."

But Harry barely heard them. He was consumed with Draco, wanting to snap the boy's head back and retaliate in a way that would dig into him. He wanted to leave his mark.

"Coming, Harry?" Ginny asked gently.

"No, you go ahead. I'm going to watch the practice," Harry said, watching Draco fly.

Ginny shrugged and walked back up to the castle with her brother.

The snitch appeared; Draco was trying hard to adjust to using his right hand, when his mind was used to strategizing to favour his left side. Adrenaline spiking, Harry mounted his broom and aimed at Draco, bodychecking the Slytherin.

Draco snarled and slammed back against Harry. "Get off the pitch, we're practicing!"

"Can't practice without a snitch," Harry said, diving after the golden ball.

Draco swore, and sped up.

They chased the snitch just as hard as they would in any official game. When the little ball did a hairpin turn high above the bleachers, both Harry and Draco had trouble matching the turn: Harry, used to requiring less force with his slight weight, accidentally overshot the turn as he didn't put enough charge into it, while Draco careened off course as his violent turn gave greater gain with Harry's body. They corrected quickly enough, speeding after the snitch as it swooped up towards the goalposts.

Several Slytherins were shouting at them, and the team Beater purposely aimed a bludger at the pair of them, not caring who it hit. The bludger wailed through the air and temperamentally did a 180, smacking Vaisey hard in the shin.

But neither Harry nor Draco registered the team around them. Their world had boiled down to beating the other.

The exhilaration of the hunt, the danger of their speed, the way Draco expertly matched his every move-everything kaleidoscoped into a picture Harry didn't understand but made his chest swell and lighten.

The snitch spinned and zoomed towards the ground. Draco was ahead of Harry, the two boys straining to match the speed of the ball. The kamikaze ball streaked towards the sand, not even executing its signature darting flight pattern. Harry was wildly trying to calculate how and when to turn up as he matched Draco neck-and-neck. The snitch hit the ground, sand spraying around it as it chose that moment to disappear from play. Harry and Draco crashed and crumpled into the sand.

To Harry's amazement, Draco was laughing. "That was fantastic!" He whooped. He laid on the sand, stretched out with his broom cradled in one arm. "Thanks, Potter. You just gave me the best practice of my life."

Harry was both annoyed and exhilarated. He had wanted to ruin practice for the little shit, not make it more fun. Yet, he found himself grinning, and had to admit this was exactly what he had needed. "You absolute wanker," he said.

"Don't tell me that wasn't awesome."

"I'm still mad at you."

"It's what you do best. You're a sanctimonious prick. Wanna go again?"

As if on cue, Harry spotted the little golden ball just down field.

_Fuck it, _Harry thought. "You're on."


	8. The Message

Sunday was a crisp autumn day, the type of perfectly-weathered day the Slytherins loved staying indoors for. It was only on days like this that the sunlight was golden; not springtime bright, not winter dull, but warm and golden. When the light gave the Hogwarts grounds a nectarine glow, it made the Black Lake glitter in a way no other season could match. The Slytherin dungeons, being underground, had massive glass panes that showed the inside of the lake. It was like a reverse aquarium: instead of peering into glass containers, you were in the container peering outward.

And when the sun hit that particular note of colour, it made Slytherin hearts sing. Most of the House were in the common room, watching the merpeople and other sea creatures pass by and socializing.

Draco and Goyle were sitting in black leather armchairs flush against a full-wall pane of glass, playing wizards chess. Draco loved playing chess with Greg; his slow, quiet ways made many people think he was dumb—even Greg himself—but Draco knew his friend wasn't stupid. Draco's comfort with his silence let Greg relax, which is how they became such close friends while growing up together. In many instances, Draco enjoyed silence. It meant you could truly be yourself, not hiding behind the convention of small talk and inane chatter. Allowing silence meant trust and intimacy. He found nothing more repulsive than the flighty men and women who were so drunk on their own egos that language simply drooled down their chins in a constant stream of embarrassment.

Draco's bishop was brutalizing a pawn when Crabbe approached them. "Guys," Crabbe started excitedly. "I finally got the bubblehead charm working. Later tonight, let's jump in the lake and swim over the girl's dorm windows, see what we can see, yeah?"

Draco grinned. He loved Vincent's roguishness and disregard for rules. He and Greg were a great balance.

"Still gay, Vince," Draco said affectionately.

"Yeah, well…" Vince grumbled. He believed if he fully accepted gay men that others would question his own sexuality. He desperately did not want that, and was not strong enough to combat it with anything other than mild homophobia. "Maybe a naked girl would help with that."

If anyone else had said the same thing to him, Draco would have snapped. But this was Crabbe. "Maybe I'll be struck by lightning, but I don't think so."

Vince rolled his eyes. "You in?" He asked Greg.

Greg shook his head, then looked up at his friend. "The giant squid will do unspeakable things to you if you try it."

"You guys are such losers," Vince pouted, leaving.

"And he wonders why he's single," Draco said. Greg gave a tiny smile, mostly a crinkling of his eyes than any mouth movement.

"Speaking of single…Did you and Blaise break up?" Greg asked in his gentle-direct manner.

"No," Draco insisted.

"It looks that way," Greg said, ordering his pawn ahead.

Draco sighed. "We just had a bad fight, that's all. He'll come back. He always does."

Greg looked Draco in the eye. "You mean, a real fight? Not just another drama spat you like to goad him into?"

"Yeah," Draco whispered.

"So it looks serious because it _is_ serious, is what you're saying."

"It's fine," Draco said. "It's just…" He paused, instructing his knight to move. "It's just that when we were kissing, he commented about how Harry tastes. He was getting off on it, on kissing someone else."

Goyle furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "You said 'Harry'."

Draco froze. "I meant Potter."

"I think I know what you meant better than you do right now," Greg said, adding quick instruction to his rook. "You've always been… possessive of your rivalry with him. You always say you know his every move, you go out of your way for his attention—that Dementor prank in third year? How long did it take us to get that together, just so you could capture his focus?"

"That prank was hilarious," Draco argued weakly.

"Maybe you're angry with Blaise for kissing someone else, and maybe you're jealous that it's 'Harry'."

Draco felt the _click_, and realized the truth in the phrase 'you can't unring a bell'. He couldn't not-know the realization he just had.

"Oh, no," Draco mumbled, crumbling his face into his hands.

Greg reached across the board, putting a comforting hand on Draco's knee. "Your move."

* * *

><p>Harry had been researching the Switch for hours when he conclusively reached evidence that shocked him.<p>

"Nothing!" He yelled, throwing the heavy book on the table. "The Switch acts like any common snake! It doesn't do anything that would distinguish its patterns. It could be anywhere in that damn forest!"

"My text says the same thing so far," Ron said, flipping a page and trying to pay attention to the words.

"Mine too," Hermione admitted. "But maybe this tome or Ron's will have additional information…"

"I'm going to talk to Hagrid," Harry said stubbornly.

"Great idea!" Ron said, closing his book at standing up.

"Ron, we need you to finish that book!" Hermione said.

"Right…" Ron sat back down, disappointed to return to the dry text. Then he realized: he'd be alone with Hermione. "Er, Harry, you should still go talk to Hagrid. I mean, nothing you could do here, right?"

"Right," Harry agreed, looking between his friends. He smiled, wished them luck, and left the library.

As Harry walked down the field towards Hagrid's hut, he wished he had brought his Gryffindor scarf. The sun was warm, but the wind promised winter. Harry knocked on the door, and heard Fang barking incessantly in welcome. Hagrid opened the door, and Fang bounded out to leap up on Harry. The boy laughed, kneeling down and rubbing the dog's ears and head playfully.

"Don' mind 'im, Harry," Hagrid said. "He's bin cooped up all day, I've bin a bit selfish, wantin' some cozy time with 'im while I rest up. Wha' brings yeh here?"

"Rest up?" Harry asked, looking up at his friend. That's when he noticed Hagrid's arm was in a sling, with gelatinous leaves coating his bare forearm. "What happened?"

"Come inside, I'll tell yeh all 'bout it, quite a good story, I made a new friend." He beckoned Harry in. Fang whimpered, looking longingly out at the grass. "Oh, a'right. Go stretch yer legs fer a bit." Fang happily rushed out. "It's a good thing he's such a coward, I never have ter worry abou' him goin' too far," Hagrid said as he closed the door. He plucked the copper kettle from the fire as he beckoned Harry to sit, pouring them each a cup of tea. He sat down heavily. "Don' look so worried," Hagrid said. "It takes more 'n this to get me down. Professor Sprout worked with Madam Pomfrey to make sure the best herbs were used. I swear, it'll be jus' like new by mornin'."

"That's good to hear," Harry said. He took a sip of tea, and spat it back into the cup as hurriedly as he could. "Um…Hagrid, what is this?" He asked.

"Jus' plain old chamomile," Hagrid said. "I'm told tha' the more rest I get today, the speedier the healin' will be." Harry looked sadly into his cup and put it back on the table. He loved chamomile—and it tasted disgusting now. _Too basic for Malfoy, I suppose._

"So how did it happen?"

"There I was," Hagrid began. "In the Forbidden Forest with Professor Sprout las' night, huntin' for tha' Switch-"

"You got hurt trying to find my cure?"

"Now, Harry, don' think of it tha' way," Hagrid said warningly. "You ought to know nothin' is gonna keep me from volunteerin'. It's me choice ter make, which means yeh don' get ter carry any guilt fer it. Yeh hear?" Harry nodded. "Alright. So I'm in the Forest, and wouldn' yeh know it, I found the most magnificent Catoblepas I've ever encountered."

"Cato…?"

"Catoblepas," Hagrid repeated. "They're like…like a cow and a buffalo, mixed together. But with a really long neck, an' a massive, heavy head…the poor darlins must'ave the most terrible neck pains. This gorgeous creature, he was chewin' some grass, and I jus' had ter give him some love. Terribly lonely creatures, the Catoblepas, 'cuz their stare can kill yeh and their breath is toxic. It's not their fault," Hagrid said, misty eyed, taking a sip of his tea. "Ahh, he was a beaut. I came up ter his side flank and gave him a good pettin', and talked ta him fer a bit. He was such a sweetheart. Told 'im to remember me and not be a stranger next time I came back. The Catoblepas turned his head towards me, prolly wantin' a nuzzle, and he breathed on me arm. Totally accidental."

Harry didn't look convinced.

"A'right, so he stared at me a bit. I was the one who told 'im not ter forget me! He was jus' tryin' ter remember, tha's all. He meant no harm. Professor Sprout came in time, tha's all that matters. An' I made a new friend!"

"You nearly died."

"I think I'll name him Gerdie," Hagrid said happily.

"Just out of curiosity, how does Professor Sprout say this all happened?"

"Oh, she just didn' understand," Hagrid said dismissively. "She said he reared back and tried ter stab me with his horns before openin' his maw and exhalin' a gust of toxins. But it wasn' really like that. Gerdie is just sensitive."

"Sounds legit," Harry said, knowing an argument would get him nowhere. "Hagrid, you know the Forest better than anyone, right?"

"Right yeh are," Hagrid proudly thumped his cup.

"What are the chances we'll find the Switch?"

The man deflated a little. "Oh…well, now, the importan' thing is ter keep hope. An' yeh know I will never give up lookin'. Yeh know tha', right?"

Harry smiled. "I know…thank you."

"There yeh be then. Gosh, look a' the time," Hagrid said, standing up. "I best call Fang back and get inta bed." Hagrid desperately didn't want to discuss the odds with Harry. He would hate himself if he made the boy stop believing.

* * *

><p>Draco and Greg were nearing the end of their chess game, when black and silver ashes floated high in the air. It was the signal of an incoming Floo call from the communications lounge. The ashes spelled out the name of the intended recipient, and underneath it the name of the caller.<p>

The common room froze as the names became clear: Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy. Greg looked up at his friend, and quickly cast the charm reply: _He's in Quidditch practice, please try again later._ Dark muttering grew, as students wondered and wagered what would happen.

"I need you and Crabbe to help me track down Potter," Draco said. Greg nodded. "My father never calls. Something's wrong."

It took half an hour before they found Harry, who was just returning from Hagrid's hut and returning to the library.

"Potter!" Draco snapped as he rushed to walk in step with Harry. Crabbe and Goyle, who had been flanking Draco, now walked a pace back from the pair.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

"Something's happened," Draco said, his eyes searching for eavesdroppers as they walked through the hall.

"Thanks for the update, Vague-y McCryptic."

Without warning, Draco grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him into an unused classroom. Crabbe and Goyle automatically stood guard outside the door.

"What's this all about?!" Harry demanded as Draco shut the door.

"My father floo called for me."

Harry felt his pulse quicken. "Shit."

"I need you to come to the dungeons-"

"Oh no."

"—and floo call him back-"

"Malfoy, there's no way!"

"Potter, you have to!"

"Like hell I do!"

Draco took a deep breath. "Potter…my father never calls. Let's read the runes here. He's suffering punishment from the Dark Lord, we're at war, he has many enemies. And now he contacts his only son, entirely out of the blue." He paused, his voice shaking. He took another deep breath. "This is serious. Something's wrong. I need you."

Harry stared, surprised at the candidness Draco had offered him, and felt something hitch inside him at the boy's final words. "Alright," Harry said. "But I can't imagine how you think we're going to trick _your bloody father_ into this ruse…"

"Easy," Draco said with a smile. "Pansy has a charm that will put my voice in your head—I'll instruct you on exactly what to say, you'll just have to repeat after me. You'll be my meat puppet!"

"Don't ever call me that again."

As they left the classroom, Greg gave a tiny smirk at Draco for having taken Harry alone. Draco read his friend's expression and smacked him playfully upside the head. Neither Crabbe nor Harry saw this interaction, and the four students moved quickly towards the Slytherin dungeons.

"They're not going to like me bringing you in," Draco said. "Remember that you're a guest. A deeply unwelcomed guest, like a cockroach."

"Thanks."

"Just don't say anything. Do you have the self-restraint to keep your mouth shut, or should we hex you silent?" Draco joked.

At this, Crabbe aimed at Harry.

Harry snarled at Crabbe, "Point that thing at me and I'll leave." Crabbe sulkily lowered his wand. Harry nodded at Draco, "I'll be quiet."

They arrived at the Slytherin entrance. "You don't get to learn our password, Potter. Crabbe?" Vincent grinned as he once again aimed at Harry and cast a charm so Harry could only hear the buzzing of bees. His logical mind slower than his reflexes, Harry ducked when he first heard them but quickly realized they weren't real. He scowled as Crabbe guffawed at him.

Draco told the stones the password, and they sucked themselves into the wall to reveal the entranceway to Slytherin House. Crabbe cancelled the buzzing charm, and let his shoulder push past Harry as he walked through the tunnel first. Harry rolled his eyes. Draco and Harry followed, with Goyle bringing up the rear.

A dozen wands drew as they entered the common room.

"What is a Gryffindor—_Harry freaking Potter—_doing in our House?!" Millicent Bulstrode demanded, wand pointing furiously.

"It's alright Millie," Draco said. Pansy rushed to stand with their group, wand ready. "Everyone," Draco began, raising his voice to a commanding speech. "You know my father floo'd for me earlier. Potter is here under strict guard, to allow me to call him back, and will be immediately escorted out the moment we're done. He doesn't know our password, he will not be here any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Of course," sneered Vaisey, lounged in a black leather armchair with one leg over the arm. "First it's a private conference with Potter, then later this afternoon he'll be volunteering our House to host a tea party for mudbloods, followed by a march throughout the castle to promote free house elves. Our Prince, everyone."

Draco strode imperiously towards Vaisey. The boy stood up, a mocking smile curdling his lips.

"Step down," Draco growled, their noses an inch apart. Vaisey stared unblinkingly at Draco.

"There has to be a line," Vaisey continued. "This is that line. Harry Potter can't be allowed here. I challenge you."

The House erupted in mutterings. Draco calmly looked at the crowd, counting how many allies he had present. As the one being challenged, he could choose the time of their match. Nearly the entire House was there, which meant the majority of his supporters were in attendance and he could not benefit from delaying. Choosing another time would only make him look weak.

"Accepted," Draco said, his voice flint striking steel.

Vaisey jerked his head towards Harry. "Get him out of here. We don't need him to witness this."

"I give the orders," Draco said. "Potter stays. In this moment, he's my vassal, in my service and under my protection." Draco knew that if they chased Harry out now, it was more likely he wouldn't get back in. The difference in responsibility between accepting their leader's choice to let Potter in versus actively letting Potter in themselves was stark.

Pansy muttered very quietly to Harry, "He just risked a lot, saying that. Don't make it regrettable."

Harry clenched his jaw. He knew he had promised to stay silent…but his anxiety got the better of him, as he whispered back to Pansy, "You know he can't do magic, right?"

"It's not that kind of challenge," She bit back. "It's verbal sparring. If Draco loses, he forfeits the right to be Prince of Slytherin."

"I thought that was just a stupid nickname?"

"No. It's politics."

Greg transfigured a chair into an apple box as Vaisey did the same. Both Draco and Vaisey stood atop their respective boxes.

"As challenger, I will speak first," Vaisey declared, eyes still unblinking. "Many of our parents follow he-who-shall-not-be-named. To invite the enemy with open arms into our House is slapping the Dark Lord in the face. We mustn't dare. We can't. Regardless of whether or not you personally follow the Dark Lord, he is a significantly more present danger to members of our House than to any other students at Hogwarts. We don't have the luxury to assume safety. Keep our relations with Potter just as they have always been: hostile, unwelcoming. If we change that, we send a message that will not be favoured." Signaling his finish, he nodded to Draco.

"How many times have I ever received floo calls, in the years of attending Hogwarts school? Can anyone remember a single time? Speak up!" The crowd gave furtive glances around. No one offered a time. "If my father has chosen now to attempt to contact me while at school, it stands to reason that it is something of grave importance. Does anyone believe Lucius Malfoy will accept dismissal? No. He will simply continue to attempt contact, until he is so infuriated he storms the castle with his entourage. Which is the greater threat, the more probable threat? –that somehow, someone might learn Potter was given brief and limited access to our House, or that a group of scared adults will learn we have switched bodies and rush to win favour by reporting to you-know-who?" Draco scanned the crowd. "Vaisey is right, we as a House are more vulnerable to the dexterous reach of the Dark Lord. But letting Potter in is not something he can learn about unless one of us choses to reveal that information. On the other hand, if I cannot floo my father and he brings his associates to investigate…the leak will be sprung. They will know that none of us gave vital information, and punishment will follow.

"The question is not 'do we want Potter in Slytherin'. The question is: Do we want to maintain control of this situation? The only way to do that, is to nip this in the bud, to floo my father and have the situation dealt with and finished." Draco nodded at Vaisey, signaling the end of his speech.

Harry watched as throughout the crowd, wands raised, some hesitantly and some boldly.

"Lit wands represent votes for the current Prince," Pansy whispered to Potter, raising her own lit wand proudly. "And don't you dare vote," she added quickly.

"I'm not an idiot," Harry whispered back.

Draco searched the crowd, looking for Blaise. The boy had waited for Draco's eyes to find him, before slowly raising a lit wand. Draco gave a small smile.

Having counted the votes, Vaisey stepped down from his box, defeated. He glared up at Draco and recited, "My challenge nulled, I await your edict."

"This matter was not a simple dispute of opinion," Draco said. "For nearly putting our House at severe risk of exposure, I banish you. Duration: one week." Draco chose two wizards who had voted for him to make sure Vaisey did as bidden.

"Banish?" Harry asked.

"Shh!" Pansy said, as Draco stepped down and came to their group.

"With me," he said, turning smartly on his heel and leading them across the common room towards a narrow hallway. The small group followed him silently.

Harry waited until they seemed to be walking the hall alone until he asked Draco, "What did you mean by 'banish'?"

Immediately, Pansy, Greg, and Vince all pulled their wands to routinely scan for the unwanted. Draco smiled at the surprised look on Harry's face. "You guys are pretty regimented," Harry said.

"We prefer order to chaos," Draco said.

"All clear," Pansy said.

Draco nodded, and decided to throw Potter a bone. "Banishment by your Prince means the rest of the House will ostracize you. Time spent in-House is relegated to the dungeons so you're kept in solitary confinement."

"Wait, you have actual dungeons?!"

"We _are_ built beneath the castle, Potter. Of course we have dungeons."

"That's so weird."

"They're great for sex parties."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Are you being serious?"

"Not all of us have access to dorm rooms. Pansy, love, did you know that Gryffindor girls can waltz into the boy's dorms whenever they choose?"

"Hmm, maybe I should have been a Gryffindor," she said with a grin.

"Don't even joke about it," Draco said.

A narrow hallway flanked by tapestries branched off the right hand side. Crabbe and Goyle stationed themselves as guards on either side of the entrance. Draco, Pansy, and Harry turned down to walk the short, darkened hall which lead to an ornate door. Draco opened it and ushered the other two through.

Harry didn't know what he had been expecting, but this wasn't it. The room was cold. The ceiling was much higher than throughout the rest of the House, and the floor was black marble veined with silver. There were no chairs, no decorations. Nothing except the massive fireplace dominating the entire wall. The firebox alone was easily seven feet tall, its trim and mantle exceeding this, with a beautiful Turkish jar suspended at its right side for floo powder.

"First things first," Pansy said. Draco recognized her getting-down-to-business voice, and grinned. "Those clothes." She quickly transfigured Harry's clothes into Draco's signature black suit.

Harry grimaced. Not only did he dislike being her doll, but he couldn't help the string of anger and loss over the full transfiguration of his Weasley sweater. Molly had hand-knitted this for him last Christmas. It was one thing to add a little length so he could wear it in this new body, but to alter its entire substance into something else? How much of the original is truly returned when it's transfigured back? He couldn't quite put it in words, but something about the difference between the appearance of the thing and the energy Mrs. Weasley wove into it… Harry wrinkled his nose, certain the question would be "too muggle thinking" to get a straight answer here, and told himself he would talk to Hermione later.

"And the hair, my gods Potter," Pansy said, motioning towards the top of his head and slicking his hair to one side.

"That's infinitely better," Draco said. Harry smirked at him.

"Now Potter, this next spell is going to put a direct link between your mind and Draco's speech and hearing. He is going to be just outside the door, listening to what Lucius says, and you're going to repeat Draco's responses." She held up her wand and moved close to his side. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, let's get this over with," Harry said.

Pansy recited some Latin softly, touching the tip of her wand to his earlobe, to his temple. Harry felt a warmth from her wand and told himself not to be nervous. She whipped her wand to aim at Draco, and with a final incantation Harry felt a small _pop_ in his head, like when your ears pop in high altitudes.

"Now, to practice," Pansy said, shooing Draco out with a wave of her hand. Draco languidly left the room, shutting the door with a firm but gentle click.

Harry stared at Pansy, awkward, not knowing what he was supposed to do. _Pansy, love, I want you to take your panties off and put them in my pocket, _Draco's voice said in Harry's head. "I'm not saying that!" Harry protested.

Pansy laughed. "Whatever it was, get used to it. This conversation with Lucius isn't going to be a comfortable one, you'll have to say things with a perfectly straight face that you wouldn't normally say. Draco, can you hear me clearly?"

_You're a fairie's ring,_ Draco replied. Harry repeated it to her, then grumbled, "What does that even mean?"

_Fairies have a clear, crystal ringing when they're nearby,_ Draco explained, while Pansy said, "Potter, you don't have to know what it means, you just have to say it." _Yeah, that too,_ Draco added. Harry could almost hear the smirk. "Okay, let's keep going," Pansy encouraged.

_Hermione Granger is a know-it-all little cunt and I'll be sure to make her cry when I beat her in every subject._ Harry felt his blood boil, but he took a deep breath and repeated it.

"Oh, Draco, I don't think I've ever seen you look so miserable…! It would be cute, if this wasn't so bloody important!" Pansy said.

_Damnit, Potter, pull yourself together, _Draco hissed. "I'm trying!" Harry said.

"I have an idea," Pansy said. "Potter, you need to kill names right now. Think of your friend, and put her in a box way over here," she said, motioning to one side. "The name 'Hermione' isn't hers right now. Take someone you hate; Bellatrix, maybe. Now impose the name 'Hermione' on recollections of Bellatrix. Close your eyes and really envision Bellatrix, and impose the name Hermione on those feelings."Harry closed his eyes, thinking of how Bellatrix had killed Sirius, thinking of her laughter…and started putting the name Hermione to it.

"Try again," she whispered after a few minutes.

Harry repeated Draco's words with a visceral viciousness.

"Perfect!" Pansy squealed. Harry looked guilty. "Stop with the look," she said. "You're just playing a part. You can give the name back to Hermione when it's time to take her out of the box. Okay? So when you're talking to Lucius, remember, anyone mentioned that you care about can go in the box with her. You're not hurting them, they're in the box."

"Alright," Harry said. "Thanks." _Pansy, you're brilliant,_ Draco said. "Pansy, you're brilliant. That one's from both of us," Harry added.

"Of course I am," Pansy said with a flip of her hair. "Okay. Stand up straight. Hands either at your side, or clasped behind your back. Don't put your hands in your pockets, don't slouch or stare at the floor…" Pansy took a breath. "Okay. We're gonna be okay. Good luck," she said, and left the room.

Draco caught her hand as she was leaving. "Pansy, I couldn't do this without you."

She smiled at him. "Yes you could. Just not nearly as well."

He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Thanks, love."

"Always," she said, squeezing his hand before walking to stand guard with Crabbe and Goyle.

_Alright Potter, let's do this._ Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder from the jar, and tossed it into the fireplace. He had to admit, this was so much better than kneeling on the ground, cramping your legs and bruising your knees in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. "Malfoy Manor," he directed.

The flames seared into a sickly green, and after a moment, a house elf stood in the fire. "Who seeks the great and noble Malfoy Manor?" the elf squeaked.

Repeating Draco's words, Harry said, "Draco Malfoy. Inform my father at once." Harry felt a knot at the phrase 'my father'.

The elf disappeared from view, and Harry waited, shifting from foot to foot. Lucius Malfoy, resplendent in a highly-embroidered robe, stepped comfortably into the fire. "Draco," he said in acknowledgement, nodding. Harry nodded back, uncertain. _Father,_ Draco replied. Harry parroted the greeting.

"An owl came to me this morning," Lucius said, every word a mathematical stroke. "Do you know what that owl brought me?"

_Potter: hold his gaze, chin up, say nothing._ Harry obeyed.

"A dead snake."

Harry's eyes widened involuntarily. Both he and Draco were thinking the same thing: the Switch.

"A common garden snake," Lucius continued, keenly noting his son's reaction. Harry felt his heart start up again, beating double time. "Decapitated. Charmed red and gold, with a hand painted Sumerian symbol for 'Prince'." Lucius dropped his calm demeanor like a cloak. "My son is the Prince of the serpent house, and an unknown Hogwarts owl brings me a 'prince' snake, desecrated in Gryffindor colours with his head cut off. What is going on?"

Draco was shocked. Someone was trying to warn his father about the Switch. He had to deflect…

"Father, I apologize a thousandfold for the worry this has brought you…"

"Worry doesn't begin to cover it," his father ground out. "This is clearly a threat. Your mother had a full-fledged panic attack, shrieking between hyperventilated breaths that Harry Potter was coming after you, as revenge against your aunt and myself."

Harry was stunned. He'd never blame Draco for the crimes of Bellatrix, or even Lucius.

"I assure you, it's nothing so dramatic. I believe I know exactly what this is all about," Harry said, hoping Draco knew what he was doing. "I believe Greg sent you that package." -blaming Goyle? But…even as they spoke, Goyle was loyally guarding their privacy... "You see, father, this is all my fault." Oh. "Goyle was reprimanding me for spending so much time with –with my boyfriend," Harry said, including Draco's stutter, unsure if he was supposed to or not. "And I teasingly told him that I would soon elope with the man. Obviously, he thinks I've lost my head, and that foolish Gryffindor notions of romance and reckless decisions have corrupted me. He's trying to send a message, hoping you'll rap my knuckles and prevent me from dishonouring my family. To which, I hope you know, I would never, ever do." Harry was impressed.

Lucius stared at Harry. A full minute passed. Harry was sweating, trying his best to look nonchalant, and to meet the man's eyes.

"Boyfriend," Lucius repeated. Harry's anger at Lucius flared even hotter. "Do not flaunt your dalliances, son. If you spend so much time with this boy as to attract the concern of your friends, then you are not being careful. Discretion is the key. Do what makes you happy, but do not do it where others can see." Harry wanted to piss in the flames. The imagined vision helped keep the anger from his face.

"Yes, father."

"I trust you will deal with your friend," Lucius sneered. "I will not tolerate being _used_ to make a point by school children."

"I will. Please give my apologies to mother. I promise, I'll take care of it."

"Indeed," Lucius said. "Since I have you here, I may as well inform you. Your betrothal has been narrowed down to two candidates. You'll be pleased to know that one is your darling Pansy Parkinson."

_Potter: smile, big smile, this is important._ _Say: Thank you father, for your consideration._ "Thank you, father, for your consideration."

"The other, is Miss Astoria Greengrass. You know your mother and I have worked to keep your desires in mind, Draco. But the time is coming close, and you may be required to compromise."

_I understand, father. I know you and mother will do what is best to ensure the success of our family, and if able, promote my happiness._ Harry pushed each sour word out of his mouth, trying to imagine them as sweets.

Another long pause. Lucius said, "Draco: do you hold quarrel with me?"

"Absolutely not, father."

"Your eyes…there is something you're keeping from me."

_I'm sorry, father, I'm merely tired. _"You've asked me to keep everything important to myself, I may as well continue as per your teachings." _Potter! Don't go off script!_

Lucius was still as stone, eyes boring through his son, angry, searching, considering…and grew gentler. "Are you in love?"

A long pause. _Yes,_ Draco whispered, barely audible, afraid. "Yes," Harry said boldly.

"Does he love you?"

"Yes."

Another pause as Lucius digested this. "These…relationships, can bring great joy. If they are managed properly, and don't harm the family." The man thought a moment longer, then bowed his head. "You have my blessing. So long as you're more careful, and you understand your duty."

Draco's eyes went wide. He wished, with all his heart, that he could truly be sharing this moment with his father instead of hiding outside the room.

The floo call ended.

Harry opened the door, and Draco flung his arms around him. "You have no idea how much that meant," Draco whispered in his ear. Harry felt the words both breathed and in his mind. It was an echoed, dreamlike quality. "It wouldn't have happened without you. Thank you." Harry wrapped his arms around him and squeezed back, saying nothing. Draco pulled away shyly, and smiled up at him before summoning Pansy over. Harry felt the moment brand itself to his skin.

"Let's talk inside," Draco said. The three of them stepped back into the communication lounge.

Pansy took out her wand and ended her spell.

"Don't forget the clothes," Harry said.

Pansy pouted. "You honestly want those rags back?"

"Just do it," Harry said. Pansy sighed, and transfigured his clothing back to normal.

"Is your family okay?" Pansy asked Draco.

"Yes, they're fine. Actually, father placed the floo call because he believed I was being threatened." He told her about the owl Lucius received.

Her brow furrowed. "Draco," she started. "If someone is trying to alert your father, it's likely they sent the same message to others…"

"Without a signature, with no way to claim credit? No…someone wanting to deliver information to the Dark Lord would have wanted to make sure he knew who to spare from his wrath." Draco countered.

"But why send something to your father? You think an ally did this?"

"That's disturbing. But possible," Draco said.

"Slytherin House is complicated," Harry said. "The politics, the suspicions, damn. In Gryffindor, they just want me to show them your dick."

Draco and Pansy stared at Harry, and burst out laughing. "You can't be serious?" Draco asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah," Harry said sheepishly. "Don't worry, I haven't and I won't."

"Oh?" Draco said, his smile turning teasing. "Keeping it to yourself, are you?" Draco's voice rippled with suggestiveness. He had never spoken to Harry like that—it made Harry's pulse spike.

"Not much to keep to myself," Harry teased back, mouth dry, refusing to back down from this new type of challenge Draco began.

"I think you need to give it a good, hard look before you say that…" Draco said.

"If you two are done flirting," Pansy said.

Harry, wild-eyed, quickly said, "We're not flirting!" Too quickly. _God damnit._ He looked back at Draco, who was watching him with curiosity.

"Of course we're not flirting," Draco said, putting an arm around Pansy. "I'm a twice-taken man. Speaking of which," he turned to look his best friend in the eye. "Father says plans for my betrothal have narrowed to two witches. You've made the final rounds, love." Pansy hugged him, thrilled—then quickly pulled away.

"Who's my competition?"

"Astoria," Draco said carefully.

Pansy's eyes turned to slits. "That-"

"I know," Draco interrupted. "Don't worry about her. You have me on your side."

Pansy nodded, collected her anger and hid it away for later. "We should go."

The three of them left, retrieving Crabbe and Goyle from their post and heading towards the common room. Pansy peeled away from the group once they reached the commons, quickly walking downstairs to her room. Harry felt several sparks hit his heels, minor burn curses to get him moving faster. He glared around, looking for his attackers, but everyone was doing their best innocently-not-paying-attention faces. Crabbe and Goyle took seats on one of the couches.

Draco walked Harry through the entrance tunnel, watching the stones suck themselves in so Harry could leave. "You really came through for me," Draco whispered as the stones ground their way inside themselves. "I won't forget that."

Harry smiled at him. He stepped out, and turned to face Draco as the stones exhaled, reclaiming the entranceway as wall. "Be careful," he said. Draco nodded. They watched each other until the stones closed between them.

Later that night, Draco was researching about how to unlock charmed parchments in his dorm room. A knock startled him from his reading. He set down his quill, placed a ribbon in the page he was on and closed the book before going to the door.

Blaise stood holding a red rose. "I'm sick of fighting," he said with a pout, handing Draco the flower. Draco smiled, took the flower and closed his eyes, indulging in its smell. He looked up at Blaise.

"You know…Kissing another man is usually a jewelry level offense."

"I kissed _you_!"

"I know," Draco said, motioning for Blaise to come in and closing the door behind him. "But at the same time, you didn't."

"I was hoping you'd be over this by now," Blaise muttered.

"It's still an issue," Draco defended. "Blaise…Do you have any idea how dysphoric it is…to have someone touching you, and not touching you. Touching a body that is yours and not yours? It's so confusing."

"You're making too big a deal out of this," Blaise said gently.

"No, I'm not!" Draco said. "I need you to understand. I don't want to feel Potter's responses to you. I don't want to know how he would react to you touching him…"

"Forget about Potter," Blaise said urgently. "Just think about you and me. That's it. That's all you need to think about."

"I can't. Not when you're getting off on kissing someone new. I don't want you tasting him, exploring him, knowing him when I only want you to know me."

"Draco," Blaise said. "I'm willing to put up with a lot of high maintenance from you. But a platonic relationship…that's not something I signed up for." He paused. "When we first started getting serious about each other, you wanted monogamy from me. That's not what I wanted, but I compromised. For you. Maybe it's time for you to compromise for me."

"What are you saying? You want me to just…" Draco stopped. "Just fake being okay, when you know I'm not? And let you do what you want. Is that what you're suggesting?!"

"Draco!" Blaise fought to regain his temper. "Draco," he repeated, calmer. "I love you. I really do. But this relationship isn't only about what you want."

Draco looked down at the rose. The points of each petal were crisp, with bloody veins tracking its delicate skin. "What about Polyjuice?"

Blaise scoffed. "Are you kidding?"

"Blaise, I could Polyjuice my real body. That way, we could mess around, and it would be us."

"It takes three months to brew Polyjuice," Blaise reminded him.

"Alright," Draco said. "In the meantime, I could find ways to get you off without you touching me. This doesn't have to be platonic! But it does have to be restrained."

"That's not enough for either of us," Blaise said. "Never being able to kiss you?"

"It's not never!" Draco said. "Just until we locate the Switch, ideally."

"And when's that going to be?" Blaise pressed. "A week?" Draco said nothing. "A month? The rest of the year? You're already betting on a minimum three months, if you believe Polyjuice is an appropriate suggestion. What if the Switch is never found?"

"It will be," Draco insisted. "Blaise…Wait for me." Draco was reminded of Potter's words about waiting.

"Waiting indefinitely…for a maybe. Draco, I…I don't know." Blaise looked away. "God, I never thought that I'd be breaking up with you. But I want my partner to be my partner in all things, and you're not able to do that."

Draco's heart dropped.

"Maybe when things are fixed, we could try again…?" Blaise asked.

"There'd be a lot more to fix than switching bodies," Draco said flatly. Blaise bowed his head.

"I'm sorry. This just can't work like it is." Blaise went to the door, opened it and paused. "I loved you, you know."

Draco wanted to say it back, but his voice was so swollen he couldn't find the strength to push the words out. Blaise left.

Draco looked down at the rose in his hand. It was so red.

His vision blurred, and he blinked back tears. He took quiet, solemn steps to his desk. Hanging over his desk, a picture of him and Blaise from the summer. The two happy faces looked at each other, the smiles of a secret shared, and turned to beam at the camera. Their ignorance of the present made Draco angry and even further grief-stricken. He took the picture down, hiding it in an unused drawer of his desk.

Draco pulled the nail out of the wall, and punctured the stem of the rose. It split around the obtrusion, wet. He pushed the nail back into the wall, so the rose hung upside down.

Inverted romance.


	9. Revelations

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
>1.) In this chapter, I make reference to gay children not being accepted in scouts. The UK boy scouts did not adopt its equal opportunities policy until 1996, which is the year the story takes place. So…I'm squeezing in! Shout out to the awesome UK scouts for including us gay folks, by the by. Canada's scout league also awesomely accepts us. (Gives shade to America's scout organization)<br>2.) I use two copyrighted lines in this chapter, italicized for identification: "This is your last warning", from Deathly Hallows, and "Fool! Get the stone!" from the first movie. Thanks J.K.!  
>3.) The book versus movie version of Quirrell's death is different. I'm going by the movie version.<br>4.) "999" is the UK emergency number to our "911".  
>Enjoy!<strong>

* * *

><p>Harry was running through the Hogwarts corridors. He had woken up hours early to shower, and made the mistake of laying down again once he was done. Now he was late for class.<p>

He threw open the door, stitch in his side and out of breath. "Sorry," he muttered quickly, embarrassed.

Remus smiled in amusement. "That's quite alright, Mr. Potter. We've started without you." Draco was sitting on the ground, dipping his fingers into a ribbed clay jar. His fingers came out covered in something that looked like white honey, and while using a drawing on parchment as reference, continued to recreate the image onto the ground. He didn't even look up at Harry. "You need to help Mr. Malfoy in forming this symbol. It should be the size of a coffee table once completed."

"I can't draw," Harry said uneasily.

"It's more important that it's created by both of you, than for it to be an artistic masterpiece. You, the soul, and Draco, the body: the answers you seek are about intentions toward the soul by using the body's blood. It must be both of you. Just do your best." Remus handed Harry a piece of parchment with the image on it, then left the boys to sit down in one of the student theatre-like seats. He pulled a tattered looking book from his inside coat pocket, and began to read.

Harry removed his school robe, seeing Draco had done the same to avoid the ample sleeves mucking up the floor painting. He unbuttoned the cuffs to his dress shirt, and rolled his sleeves up as he sat next to Draco.

"I don't even know where to start," Harry said, his eyes swimming as he looked between what was already slickened to the ground and what the parchment said the finished symbol should look like.

"It doesn't matter," Draco said moodily. "It all needs to be done, anyway. So start anywhere."

Harry studied the parchment, trying to match up the points that Draco had already completed so he didn't mistakenly repeat the design. He tore tiny reference points.

"You're pretty good," Harry said, admiring the precise way Draco created his lines.

"Drawing is just math," Draco said, dismissing the compliment. "You space out how close each mark is to each other, how long individual marks are, how thick they are. If your math is accurate, your drawing will be successful."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "That strips the art away."

"No," Draco said, angry. "It doesn't. It's only myopic to people who fail to see the overarching point: Art, math, they're languages, and they share linguistic roots with each other."

"You have a strange way of looking at things," Harry said.

"At least I bother to look," Draco snarled.

Harry was confused. Hadn't they gotten along yesterday? "Why are you so bitchy this morning?" When Draco stubbornly refused to answer, Harry asked, "Did something happen?"

"No," said Draco.

The boys worked in silence. Harry was nervous, his mind constantly crippling his productivity with self-doubt. As he forced himself to persevere, however, he realized that he was creating a fair reproduction. He would draw a line, then freeze—afraid that he had made it too long or done the wrong angle—but every time he checked, he was doing it well. With a start, Harry realized that Draco was an artist. His hands were trained, and understood what movement would recreate the design his eyes saw. He took a deep breath and made the decision to stop over-analyzing and panicking, and to simply trust.

Draco growled in frustration. "I have never had to work so slow in my _life_!" Draco said. "It's like your hands find art utterly alien."

"Told you I can't draw," Harry said with a smirk.

Draco scowled at him. "I'm training them. I can see what needs to be done, and I know from experience how to make the motion…I just have to go abysmally slow to make your hands work." With his clean hand, Draco swept the dark hair from his eyes. "How have you gone through your entire life not learning art?!"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged, letting his left hand absently continue to paint. "We'd sometimes have classes in muggle school for art. But I never had my own art supplies. I'd borrow school property, which was usually broken or limited. It just wasn't something I had the privilege of getting into."

Draco silently fumed.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be into this stuff," Harry continued. "I assumed learning how to draw would be too…I don't know. Low class, or something."

"This is why the Dark Lord is spot on for wanting to remove muggle-borns from their parents at birth," Draco began, intentionally baiting Harry for a fight. "You know nothing about your own culture."

"Oh, sure. Kidnap muggle-born infants…Because all the pure-bloods would want to adopt a 'mudblood' into their own family line, right?!" Harry said, furious.

"Even an orphanage would be preferable."

"Fuck right off. You can't honestly believe that?"

"At least you'd grow up in your own world," Draco insisted. "Do you know what the most annoying question is that every single muggle-born I've ever met has asked?" Harry glared at him. "Some iteration of: 'is this real?'. The muggle world has a deteriorated, almost senile remembrance of magic. They teach stories to their young, turn around and say 'this isn't real'. Then muggles make the child believe some of it _is_ real, creatures like 'Santa' or the tooth fairy. They condition the child for years to believe it's true, then reveal that they lied all along and reinforce the crushing idea that magic is not to be trusted or believed in. When these kids turn eleven and are brought to Hogwarts…they can't fully trust what our world offers. 'Is that real?', 'I thought goblins were only in stories', 'Can you really do this', 'Is that a trick'…It makes me want to scream. No one should have to scrutinize reality to that point. It's abuse, and it happens to every muggle-born child."

"Maybe," Harry said, still angry but also distinctly intrigued by Draco's thoughts. "But Jesus, Malfoy. You can't go around stealing children from their families! Vol-" Harry caught himself. "-The Dark Lord is a mad man if he thinks that's the best solution."

"Didn't you ever want to leave your family?"

"The thought may have crossed my mind," Harry said dryly, remembering how desperately he wanted to remain at Hogwarts after his First Year, remembering the hope that he could live with Sirius… "But the Dursleys aren't a good example of a 'family'," Harry added. "Why are you defending muggle-borns? You hate them," Harry said, a test.

"True," Draco said simply. Harry scowled. "But not because they're muggle-born. Because they're muggle-raised." Harry shot an angry side-eye glance at Draco, waiting for explanation. Draco wasn't paying attention, he was carefully studying the curvature of the mark he was painting. "Muggle-borns are actually incredible," he said, much to Harry's shock. "We still don't know how they exist. Purebloods inherit magic. But magic chooses muggle-borns. They're the essence of what magic is: something from nothing. But the unfortunate side effect of all this, is that they become raised by muggles. And _that_, I hate. Muggle-borns are our people, and keeping them banished from our world for over a decade to live with the enemy is wrong."

Harry scrunched up his face. "That's not what's happening…"

"Yes, it is," Draco argued. "The Quill of Acceptance records the birth of all magical children, right? You know that's how Professor McGonagall knows who to send Hogwarts invitations to?" Harry nodded. "So, we have an automatic detection of where our people are born into. And we leave them there, with no mentors to assist, until they're eleven. Your aunt and uncle panicked and blamed you when your accidental magic released. I assure you, that's not an uncommon reaction. These children have no one to turn to, and no answers for what's happening to them. I pity them. However…they spend over a decade, depending on muggles. Loving muggles…" Draco snarled the last. "Monsters who crave genocide, wiping out entire species of animals for fun, even murdering hundreds of thousands of their own people, hunting us simply for being different. Tortured us, killed us. When we finally went into hiding, they eliminated us from history, claiming we were only myth. Like they did to the unicorns. Unicorns! The bloody symbol of all that is good and pure. Nothing is sacred to them."

"Love is sacred to them," Harry said quietly. Draco said nothing. "They really scare you, don't they?"

"I hate them," Draco spat. "Which means I hate muggle-borns. They hold uncanny trust in these monsters. It's a decade's worth of brainwashing, these kids learning that they belong with muggles. Hard to re-write that, when they learn it so young. So I hate them. But it doesn't mean I don't pity them."

Harry was blown away. "The muggles you describe, I hate too. But that's not the majority of them. It's a sick fraction of them. I swear to you, they're not all like that."

"Then why are we in hiding to this day?" Draco sneered. Harry didn't know what to say. He imagined how the muggle world would react if wizards and witches revealed their side of the world. Rampant fear, demands for experimentation, everything from new religions reveling magic-users as demi-gods to full-scale witch hunts for execution. Muggles can't even accept a gay kid in boy scouts, how could they accept a kid with the level of devastating power magic wields? He thought of the Dursleys en masse and shuddered.

"Volde—fuck, _The Dark Lord,_ wants to destroy the muggle populace. How does that make him different from them?"

"We're fighting back for self-protection and defense."

"What 'fighting back', we've learned how to peacefully coexist!"

"No, we've learned to hide."

Harry growled, frustrated. "Okay, look at it this way. You eliminate all the muggles. You know what else that does? It eliminates a massive faction of wizards and witches, because it removes the potential for muggle-borns. Maybe magic needs muggles. Maybe magic needs the balance of flowing through bloodlines and spontaneous creation. If you take away muggles, what will you ultimately be doing to magic?"

Draco stopped painting and looked up at Harry, impressed. "That's…terrifying and brilliant."

"What, terrifying because it came from me?"

"Because you might be right," Draco whispered.

Harry felt smugly victorious, but the feeling fizzled when he looked at Draco and saw the fear and conflict running through him.

"I think it's done," Draco said, dotting one last line. Harry called Remus over, who walked around their work, examining it.

"Harry, you forgot a star," Remus said, using the toe of his shoe to point. Harry looked at the parchment, back to the painting, and was embarrassed that the man was right.

"Great Morgana Potter, blood magic is dangerous enough without you bollocksing up the conjuring circle!"

"Remus said it didn't have to be exact!" Harry bickered back at Draco.

"I said your art didn't have to be expert-level. That doesn't mean we can omit parts of the design," Remus quickly clarified. Harry dipped his fingers back into the jar, painting the tiny star. "The rest looks perfect," Remus said. "Go wash up."

The boys stood, Draco stretching before following Harry into the hall. They both entered the nearest boy's bathroom, Draco purposely using a sink further from the one Harry chose. Harry looked around and saw they were alone. _Now's the best time,_ he thought to himself, wondering if he was about to make a really stupid mistake. He dried his hands quickly, and took Draco's elbow before he made it out the door. "Wait," he said. Draco flinched at the word.

"What?" Draco said, irritated with himself.

"I know something happened. We were on good terms yesterday, and now…" Harry paused. "You want to keep it to yourself, fine. But…after seeing the political climate in Slytherin, it made me worried. Like it or not, we're in this together. So…" He dug a blue button out of his pocket. "I had Hermione make this for you." He held it out to Draco. "It's an alert mechanism. If you hadn't found me yesterday, things would have been much worse for you. If you ever need me for something like that, or whatever…just press your thumb into its front and hold it for ten seconds. Mine will glow, and we'll meet up in the Dynamics room." Draco stared at the offering, astounded. Harry shifted uncomfortably. "If you don't want it—"

"I want it," Draco said quickly, plucking the button out of Harry's hands before he could move. Harry smiled. Draco studied the button, the carved grooves along its edges and the darker swirl pattern across its front. He had been so hurt and angry all morning, taking it out on Harry and baiting the boy so he could vent some of that emotion…and Harry still wanted to reach out to him. "Blaise broke up with me," Draco blurted out.

"What?"

"Last night. He broke it off."

"He's an idiot."

Draco looked up at Harry. He put the button in his pocket and smiled. "Thanks."

Harry smiled back. "C'mon, let's go."

As they made their way back to the Dynamics room, Draco walked side-by-side with Harry. Harry was learning that these small gestures, things that many people do without thinking, were chosen with purpose by Draco and often spoke volumes about how he felt.

Entering the classroom, Remus clapped once for their attention. "Alright!" He began. "Before we begin, there's a few things you need to understand about blood magic." Draco snorted. Remus raised an eyebrow. "Something to say, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco huffed, looked at Harry quickly and back to their teacher. "Nothing. Just…Potter, how did you convince me to go along with this?! The man has tainted blood. What's he going to know about blood magic?"

"I assure you, I had the best teacher imaginable."

"Considering you never had training to become a Professor, as every other faculty member to enter Hogwarts has had to do…how could you possibly claim to have 'the best' mentor for something so specialized?!"

Remus grinned. "I learned blood magic from a vampire."

Draco froze. Harry couldn't help but grin at the calculating, greedy look in his eyes. "Really?" Draco breathed, deeply curious.

"Really," Remus said. "Any other objections?" Draco shook his head no, looking nearly mesmerized. "As I was saying," Remus continued, amused to finally command the boy's interest. "There are a few things I need you to understand before we delve into the dark arts. Firstly: Yes, Harry, all blood magic is considered dark arts. It can be used for good or neutral reasons, such as what we're embarking on. But the practice itself remains dark arts. The reason for this classification is not simply for the use of blood—"

"Using human blood is plenty reason," Draco argued, though not in his usual superior tone. It was a challenge, but one that simply wanted more information.

"That's what most would have you believe," Remus said. "Many potions use a variety of body parts in their ingredients without necessarily becoming part of the dark arts. You could argue that none of the body parts are human, and that distinction is what makes blood magic contentious. But that's not the whole truth. In potions, what you use interacts with all the other ingredients, and together they transform into the new creation. Potions is ultimately a birth. With blood magic, your blood sacrifice is drained of life. It's a death of energy, when energy is the one thing that cannot normally be destroyed. That is the element that makes this dark arts. You feel it. Your entire bloodline will feel it."

"The Dursleys?" Harry asked.

"Yes, even muggles. Witch or muggle, they wouldn't know what it is—just an odd feeling, a shadow, they might think of you briefly. They won't understand exactly what happened, but they will know something has happened."

Harry nodded. He felt a little sick.

"This has never been attempted with members of the Switch, but in theory, Draco will feel it, and Harry's bloodline will be affected. Harry, you shouldn't feel anything at all. This is about life force and bloodlines."

"If the blood is drained of life," Draco asked, "does that affect the caster outside of feeling the moment happen?"

"It depends on the spell," Remus said honestly. "It depends on the intent, how long and how powerful the spell needs to be, how much blood was sacrificed, whether or not the magic needed to feed on the power of your ancestral bloodline or as a simple offering of you." He smiled. "In this case, no, there should not be adverse effects."

"Aside from the whole, 'murdering energy' thing," Harry said, feeling conflicted. "What, exactly, does that do?"

"The theory is long and tedious. I can lend you a book-"

"The vampire gave you books on blood magic?" Draco asked eagerly.

Remus smiled. "He might have," he said elusively. "He did have centuries and a singular passion for the subject, after all."

Draco was itching to get his hands on that book. "Why don't you lend me the book, I'll pore over it and condense the theory for Potter. As a favour. Since we're in this together and everything."

"Nice try," Remus said. "It will appear blank unless lent to someone trusted. Sorry, but you won't be able to read it yet." Draco scowled. "Harry, we need these answers," Remus pressed. "Can you agree to the sacrifice?"

Harry shrugged helplessly. "I don't see what choice we have, really."

"You're doing the right thing," Remus reassured, but Harry still felt tense. "Mr. Malfoy, I will need you to stand at my right side. Keep your left hand palm up. I will recite the incantation, and slit your palm. Mr. Potter, you may stand where ever you like."

Harry stood at Remus's left. The man took out his wand, and began reciting long strings of Latin. Harry felt a chill wind slip through the stones and feather his skin, dancing with the candlelight. Draco offered his hand at the moment Remus needed, clearly understanding Latin, and Remus used his wand to cut deeply. Draco winced, but tried not to flinch. Remus gripped the boy's wrist and in counter-clockwise movements, rolled the boy's hand palm down over the circle, letting his blood fall. Each drop sizzled and smoked at landing on the design, turning black before evaporating into nothing. As Remus began to wrap up the incantations, he drew Draco's wrist back outside the circle and flicked his wand hard.

Light.

It was as if the circle had become a sun—it was beautiful, and hurt to look at. Harry strained despite himself, and could see that the circle was spinning rapidly. As it slowed, the light lessened, and grew tolerable to the eyes.

The circle had transformed—no longer was it the floor of the classroom. It was a golden cylinder, rising from ground to ceiling, and the belly of it let them peer into the past. Lily Potter, carrying her infant son, had just rushed into the nursery.

Draco was startled. _She's the girl from the photograph,_ he thought. He pushed the questions that followed aside—he needed to pay attention.

Clutching her child with one hand, she grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and threw open the window—and saw hooded figures skulking the perimeter of her home.

"Lily was afraid of brooms at the best of times," Remus murmured. "She couldn't have outflown them." Draco was surprised to learn Remus had known her.

She could hear the front door finally give way. She shut the window and put the baby in his crib. "It's gonna be okay," she kept chanting to her son. She shakily drew her wand and cut across her palm. Remus's brows furrowed, trying to figure out what she was doing. She squeezed the blood over the infant's mouth, cooing at him to drink, to be a good boy. The sounds of battle and the fear in her voice made the infant cry—which meant she could drip her blood into his open mouth.

"What…?" Harry asked, disgusted.

"Lily…" Remus said, as if his voice could reach her.

She cast a quick cleaning charm to eliminate the blood from her son's face, and healed her hand. A particularly brutal crash made Lily jump, her eyes wide, but she kept going. She spoke in Latin, with figure-eight wand movements between the infant and herself.

"She's doing a binding spell," Remus said, quizzical. "A really powerful one. What is she up to?"

She leaned down and kissed Harry's head with a hushed and shakey "I love you".

Silence.

Lily froze. "James…?" She whispered. He was gone. Which meant she was running out of time.

She whipped her wand up, pointed it to her temple, and cast the killing curse.

"No!" Harry yelled, watching his mother's body hit the floor. "That's not how it happened!" He said urgently to Remus. "I remember her—" Harry stopped mid-sentence. The blood magic they cast illuminated a glowing ball of white light emerging slowly from Lily's body. It struggled, sluggish, to pull free of the body. Once out, it darted quickly into Harry's.

"The soul, at the time of bodily death, has a choice to either go onto the next realm, whatever that may be…or to stay on earth and become a ghost. Except in the rare instances where bodily death is impermanent, what we call near-death experiences, when the soul can return to its body. She used the binding spell to trick her own journey into thinking your body was sanctuary. But why…?"

Lily's body jerked, spindly, and stood.

"What the fuck…" Harry said.

"Necromancer," Draco whispered. "She's reanimating her old body."

"That's not what's happening," Harry said stubbornly.

"Oh, Lily," Remus whispered, heart breaking. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Remus, that's not what's happening…" Harry said, less sure, afraid.

Voldemort easily cut through the minimal defenses on the door and entered. Lily's body stood naturally, and begged him to kill her but spare Harry. The infant was perfectly quiet, watching.

_"This is my last warning,_" Voldemort replied. "Step aside."

_Why is he giving her multiple chances to save herself?_ Draco wondered, his mind flitting back to the photograph.

When Lily refused, Voldemort cast the killing curse against her. She screamed, crumpled. The Dark Lord casually stepped over her and stood before the crib. The infant was still eerily quiet, gazing up at him with unblinking eyes. The Dark Lord smiled, lifted his wand high, and cast the killing curse once more—only to have that white light, Lily, instantly leave Harry's body and propel itself directly into the curse. An explosion of green sparks flung backward, the spell shrapnel sending a shower of curse-missiles slicing through the Dark Lord's body. He shrieked. The energy blast from having directly hit a soul instead of a physical form had magnified the intensity of the curse, and his body was reduced to particles. The violence and force behind the hit ejected his soul rapidly, and in its state of weakness a tiny piece splintered from the rest. The soul gave a fierce howling-whistle as it blew across the earth…and the rejected piece of soul moved into the object of focus it held before breaking apart: Harry. As it forced its way into the boy without the prime of a binding spell, like a sperm eating through an egg, it cut a strange mark into the child's forehead as it entered.

Lily's soul disappeared. The cylindrical column went dark, and became the school floor once more.

"None of that….none of that makes sense," Harry sputtered, desperate. "Something must have gone wrong with the casting."

"Nothing went wrong with the casting," Remus refuted, tired.

"Did I see that right? Was that a piece of the Dark Lord's _soul_ that burrowed into Potter?" Draco said, a panic rising. "Is it still there?!" He touched the scar. "Is that why you have that freaky bond with him?!"

"I don't have any 'bond' with him!" Harry yelled back.

"You see what he sees, he sends you visions!"

"That's just magic, not a 'bond'! You make it sound like allegiance!"

"Everyone, calm down," Remus said loudly. "We need to go over what we saw, _calmly_."

"Fuck 'calmly'," Harry said. _"My mother can't be a necromancer!_ That's seriously dark and twisted shit, she _wouldn't do that."_

"And blood magic is all lollipops and kittens, is it?" Draco sneered back. "Everyone has a price. Your mother was clearly willing to break the rules for you. _That's a good thing,_ Potter, so stop your whinging!"

"Speaking of which, give me your hand. I'll heal it for you," Remus said. Draco held his hand out, and nodded in satisfaction when Remus was finished.

"How could she know how to do that?" Harry asked Remus.

The man sighed. "I don't know for certain…but…Harry, there's something you need to know about your mother's term at Hogwarts. Since before she arrived, Lily and Severus were best friends."

Harry stared blankly at Remus. "Severus Snape. And my mother. Were…?"

"Inseparable," Remus said.

"You're lying," Harry said quietly.

"Why would I-"

"If Snape cared one iota for my mother, why would he hate me so much?!"

"Maybe because he cared much more for her," Draco said. "And seeing you is an organic reminder how he could never have her."

"You don't know anything about it! You stay out of this!" Harry snarled at Draco.

"Actually," Draco drawled. "I think I have proof he loved her."

"I always suspected," Remus said.

"You what?!" Harry whirled around to glare at the man.

"There was a time, back in fifth year, when they almost dated," Remus said. Harry looked like he wanted to hit him. "I'm sorry Harry, but your mother loved him. They spent so much time together, always alone. But midway through the year, something changed. She said he was studying dark arts, and inching towards a dangerous crowd—what would later become the Death Eaters. She said she couldn't help him anymore, but she still cared. One day, he was being bullied, and she came to his defense. But for whatever reason, he rejected her help, and called her a mudblood. She never forgave him, and their friendship died that day. He was so desperate to repent, I always thought he might have felt something for her…"

"It wasn't love," Harry said. "Not if he threw that word in her face."

"People make mistakes," Draco said. "Do you know what a prayer box is?" Harry simply glared at him. "It's a small box that you fill with symbols of prosperity, health, good luck, and love. My mother has one that is filled with strange coins, feathers, crystals and stones, dragon scales and beads. Even one of my baby teeth. When I was six, my mother took me to visit Severus. They're friends-well, as close to 'friends' as Snape will ever allow. While they talked, I went exploring and found his prayer box. I snooped. But inside was bare, only a single photograph. A picture of a girl, the most alien picture I've ever seen. It was in colour, but it wasn't a painting, it was a photo. And it was dead. It was completely still. She stared straight at me, and it creeped me out so I closed the box and left. I had nightmares about that girl for a week." Draco smiled. "My point is, her image is the only thing sacred to him."

"I can't believe this," Harry said. "She loved my dad."

"Not 'til seventh year," Remus corrected gently. "She thought he was a toe-rag up until then. When his parents died, he was forced to grow up fast. She fell in love with mature, responsible James, not trouble-maker semi-bully Prongs."

_Prongs?!_ Draco instantly thought of the enchanted parchment: Messer Prongs.

"…you think she went so far as to learn necromancy before deciding to distance herself from Snape?" Harry asked.

"She refused to talk to me about the specifics of her studies," Remus said. "Which makes me believe she felt shame. The pair of them were so driven to learn absolutely everything there was to know about magic, so no one could dispute their place in our world. They felt cut off from their homes, and were desperate to carve an irrefutable place to belong. But Severus became obsessed with the dark arts, and Lily stepped back. I just wish she had told me what finally made her realize…"

"Are we done moaning about the moral complexities of Lily Potter?" Draco asked. "Because the splintering of the Dark Lord's soul and subsequent merging into Potter's body has my attention."

"I think it just went through him," Remus said. "It can't lodge itself. Lily was only able to stay in his body for a few minutes, and that was with a complex binding spell to ease the process."

"Why'd she do it anyway?" Harry muttered. He was relieved that Remus seemed to dismiss Draco's theory. "I mean, her big plan was to die regardless. So why bother moving into my body to do it?"

"Harry, you saw how slowly a soul moves when exiting their own body," Remus said, trying to be patient. "That connection is strong, and difficult to overcome, even at death. In order to get the speed to hit his curse, she had to do it from a body that didn't belong to her. A soul moves like light, except when it's disengaging from its true corporeal self. Leaving your body would be no different than circling the world. Leaving her own body would cost her too much time."

"We didn't see the soul shard pass through," Draco persisted. "And the baby didn't suffer any exit wounds."

"Mr. Malfoy, a soul cannot live in a body not belonging to it, except in the case of the Switch. That is the only instance I have ever read about the subject."

"Then we need to read more," Draco said angrily. "None of us saw evidence to support the idea that the soul left or passed through."

"Maybe it stayed for a few minutes longer than we had the ability to view," Remus said.

"…wait," Harry said quietly. "…Malfoy might be right."

Never had Draco felt such a sinking, dire portent from the accusation of being right.

"What makes you say that?" Remus said, tense.

"Quirrell." Harry hadn't spoken the man's name since First Year. It haunted him. "I couldn't look at him or be near him without agony in my scar."

"And Quirrell is relevant because…?" Draco asked.

"Because the Dark Lord was a parasite hiding on the back of his head," Harry said.

"Quirrell? That pathetic stuttering coward was a Death Eater?!"

"Big time."

Draco was shocked. He knew the legend of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position was that the Dark Lord cursed it when Dumbledore refused to hire him, so no one could hold it longer than a year. How angry the Dark Lord must have been, to share the body of a man in his coveted role and unable to reach out and seize the position himself…

"Oh god, all this stuff with my mom makes so much sense," Harry groaned. "At the end of First Year my touch made Quirrell's body break apart, just like Voldemort's did at my mother's intervention."

Draco's eyes widened, too astonished at Harry's confession to be angry that he spoke the name. "You killed a man?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly.

"Did you know that Marjorie Hillbrockle was expelled from Hogwarts at the start of this year for killing a Hufflepuff's pet cat?" Draco asked lightly.

"What the hell does that have to do with—"

"_You killed a professor and weren't so much as slapped on the wrist?!"_

Harry's stomach twisted. "He was trying to kill me."

"Always a justification with you," Draco spat.

"Stop it," Remus said. "Harry, this is important. Did the Dark Lord say anything when Quirrell's body began turning to ash?"

Harry had tried to block the memory of that night, but it rushed back clear as a portrait at Remus' prodding. "He just said, '_Fool, get the stone'_."

Silence as Remus thought this over.

"Also…he needed my blood. In the graveyard, when rebuilding his body. He needed the blood of his enemy, but he specifically wanted mine to overcome the whole touch-to-ash thing. If my mom used blood magic to bind us so that her soul could destroy him, then my blood would inoculate him."

"Let's get back to this soul theory," Remus said shortly. "Your scar hurt at the sight of the Dark Lord, you had dreams where you could see what he was doing. Yes, you have a connection, but I don't think any piece of his soul could possibly remain in your body."

"It's not that I saw what he was doing, really," Harry said, uneasy. "It's that I _was_ him. I experienced everything as he did." He took a breath. "And at the Ministry last year…after Sirius. Voldemort possessed my body."

"You said you wouldn't say his name," Draco muttered.

"Can you focus?!" Harry yelled. "Voldemort easily took over my body! I'm not talking imperious. I'm talking full-on possession." His fists clenched. "If a piece of his soul was already in me, then it would make sense he could just…invade with the rest of himself as if my body belonged to him…"

"What made him leave?" Remus urged.

Harry snorted. "I don't really know. Dumbledore said it was my love. I didn't feel any love, I was self-loathing, and burnt, and kind of wanting to die."

"Theory: a body is created to accommodate one soul. Theory: your body is home to your soul and to a stowaway soul-fragment. Theory: The rest of the Dark Lord's soul trying to push itself in made the body physically reject him, since it wasn't designed to hold three separate and distinct pieces," Draco said. "He could possess you for a few minutes, like Lily, but he couldn't hold you."

The three of them looked around at each other.

"If this is true," Remus said quietly. "Then it would make sense for Albus to lie about it all this time…until he could learn how to expel a soul without killing the body…"

"This is too much," Harry said. "I'm out of here." He left the classroom.

Draco shivered. He grabbed his school robe and put it on. "I'm taking off too," he said. He glanced at Harry's robe, and with a scowl scooped it up.

Remus nodded. "We've accomplished a lot today. I'll see you both in the morning. In the meantime, I'm going to look up some books…" But Draco didn't hear the rest, as he left the Dynamics room.

He ran after Harry.

"Potter," he said, moving in front of him and shoving the Gryffindor robe into his chest. "I am not your fetching boy. This is a one-time thing. Be more aware." Harry slung the robe over one arm and kept walking. Draco huffed. He hated being ignored. "Where are you going?!" He demanded, hurrying to keep pace.

"To yell at Dumbledore. Or Snape. I'm in a yelling mood, I don't particularly care who crosses my path first."

Draco smacked Harry upside the head. Harry turned to the boy and shoved him. "You idiot!" Draco sneered, shoving Harry back. "You can't just go yell at them! We're not supposed to let on what we know!"

Harry dropped his robe and grabbed Draco by the front of his robes, slamming him into the wall. "I don't _care!_" he yelled. "I don't care what we're supposed to do or not do anymore!" Blue electricity snapped around them. Harry loosened his grip on Draco, looking startled at the forking shocks that cut the air.

"Potter," Draco said carefully. "You need to get a handle on your emotions right now. I don't know how severe accidental magic can be in an adult…"

"I have incubated the soul of the man who murdered my parents," Harry growled. "How the hell am I supposed to back-burner that kind of revelation?!" Another blue streak cracked against the ceiling, sending chunks of stone raining down.

"You don't," Draco said. "Hit me."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Harry shouted, more blue electricity shooting, slamming a painting to the ground and gashing stones open. A chandelier crashed, torn from the ceiling along with sharp lumps of stone.

"I'm in your body," Draco said. "That means He's lodged here. Take your anger out on him." When Harry didn't move, Draco punched him in the jaw.

Frenzied retaliation. Harry slammed a fist into Draco's gut, and when the boy doubled-over in pain Harry grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the ground. Harry pinned him down, repeatedly hitting him in the face, blood everywhere. He grabbed the boy's neck with both hands, squeezing as hard as he could. Draco clawed at Harry's hold, trying to kick up and dislodge him somehow.

The lightning was gone.

Harry could only see the scar, the lightning bolt he was once fond of, the mark he now knew was a symbol of Voldemort. That fucking scar, that space that allowed Voldemort in…

He looked down, and saw himself, his body, struggling for air, fighting him. Draco.

He pulled his hands away, and Draco gasped for breath, coughing. Harry trembled, still atop the boy. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Oh god, I'm so sorry…"

"Shut up," Draco said, a tiny smile. "C'mere," he said. Harry froze, uncertain. Draco reached a shakey arm up and pulled Harry down. He wept into Draco's shoulder as Draco held him. "I wish I could do that to him, too," Draco whispered. "Father was punished severely after his failure to retrieve the prophecy. I've never seen him so broken. I wanted to kill the Dark Lord for what he had done."

"I thought you wanted to follow him…?" Harry asked, muffled into his chest.

Draco paused, thoughtful. "When I was younger, it seemed…grand, somehow. But now that he's returned, seeing the fear in my parents, the torture he inflicted on my father…No. I won't follow him. I don't oppose him—that's even worse. That would target my family. But I won't follow him."

Harry leaned up and looked Draco in the eyes. "You agree with his ideology, just not him, then."

Draco smirked. "Well, now you've got me reconsidering, with your damned 'magic might need muggles' theory."

Harry gave a small smile. "I'm really sorry," he said again, looking at the streaks of blood.

"Didn't I say shut up?" Draco huffed, smiling back.

Harry stood up, offering his hand to help Draco. Draco clasped his hand and pulled himself up, dizzy when he stood.

"Shit," Harry said, noticing the larger blood stain on the ground. "How hard did I slam your head?"

"Pretty hard," Draco said, gingerly touching the back of his head. The hair matted, sticky with blood.

"Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk," Draco said, promptly falling as he tried to take a step unaided. Harry caught him.

"Easy," Harry said. He thought how far Madam Pomfrey's ward was. "Maybe we should get you back to the Dynamics room, see if Lupin is around…"

"He was leaving for books," Draco said, closing his eyes as intense vertigo swept him.

"Okay," Harry said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a bronze button—it was a Gap jeans button. "I'm getting Hermione," he said.

"Noooo," Draco whined.

"Yeeees," Harry said. He held the button with his thumb, and brought it to his lips. "999—second floor, by the portrait of the cat that looks like Crookshanks." The button glowed briefly: message sent. He put it back in his pocket. "She'll get here as soon as she can," he said, lowering Draco to the ground. Draco gripped his head in both hands, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath. "It's okay," Harry said anxiously, sitting on the ground with him.

"If things ever stop spinning, I reserve the right to do something terrible to you," Draco muttered.

Harry sat with his back against the wall. "Lean against the wall, it'll make you less dizzy," he said, holding a hand out to help guide him in. Draco cracked his eyes open and beelined to sit curled up between Harry's legs, resting against his chest. Harry was startled. "What are you doing?"

"You owe me," he said, snuggling in.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, alright."

They waited like that for only ten minutes before Hermione came running down the corridor…with Ron.

"You might have been right about not asking Hermione," Harry whispered to Draco. Draco looked up.

"What's the Weasel doing with her?"

"She must have panicked."

"Well, this will be interesting," Draco drawled.

"What happened here?!" Hermione asked, panting for breath, looking at the destruction. "Are you both alright?"

Ron stopped short. He looked at Harry. "What's this?" He asked, motioning to Draco in his arms.

"Afterglow," Draco said, smiling.

"Sod off," Harry said to Draco, grinning. He looked up at Ron. "I think he has a concussion, he needs healing."

"Is this blood all his?" Hermione asked, kneeling down beside Harry.

"Yeah," Harry said, immensely guilty.

"See, if you both had major head injuries, that would answer my question," Ron said. "But since you don't, I have to repeat: What's this?"

Harry ignored him.

"Malfoy, can you sit up?" Hermione asked. Draco grimaced and tried to do as bidden. He was overwhelmed with nausea, and desperate not to throw up in front of people. Hermione examined his wounds and drew her wand. Draco felt the bones in his nose snap back into place, the swelling around one eye cease, the bruising around his throat ease and finally the pain in his head deflate to a minor throb, then disappear. She gave him the courtesy of cleaning the blood from his clothes.

Suddenly, Draco felt incredibly awkward. He owed Hermione Granger. _Ugh._ "Thank you," he said formally.

Hermione was surprised. She expected criticism. "You're welcome," she said, equally formal.

"If we leave now, maybe everyone will blame Peeves for the mess," Draco said to Harry, standing up. Hermione and Harry stood with him.

"Or we could just clean it ourselves," Ron argued. Ron raised his wand and started to repair the stone. Hermione lifted hers again and reformed the shattered chandelier, mended the splintered picture frame and re-hung the cat portrait. She beamed at Ron.

"Thanks you guys," Harry said to his friends.

"As much as I enjoy seeing the stuffing beat out of you, it looked pretty bad in here Malfoy. You gonna tell us what gives?" Ron asked.

"It was my fault," Harry said quietly.

"He says that about everything," Draco said quickly. "He'd blame himself for Dragon Pox if he thought he could. He had a burst of accidental magic, and shit went wrong."

"You did that to Malfoy?" Ron said with pride. Hermione slapped his arm lightly.

"I shouldn't have…been so out of control," Harry said carefully and sincerely.

"Harry, it's called 'accidental magic' for a reason," Hermione said gently. Harry felt like scum. "I haven't had accidental magic in years…that must be so frustrating for you to have to go through it a second time. You need to report this to Remus, especially considering how dangerous it was. You're sure you're okay, Malfoy?"

She sounded concerned, and Draco didn't understand why. "Yes, top notch work, Granger. Solid 'O's across the board." She smiled at him. It was alarming. He tried to smile back. "I suppose I ought to head out," Draco said, nodding at Harry and turning to leave. After a few steps he turned back around. "And Potter?" Harry looked at him. Draco grinned. "Don't forget your damn robe this time."**  
><strong>


	10. Anything at a Cost

Morning came too soon for Harry. He hadn't slept well, his mind refusing to still as it churned his thoughts against what he had learned from Lupin's ritual.

"The worst accidental magic I ever did was casting sparks like bludgers to chase Fred and George away," Ron said as they were getting dressed. "I can't believe you clobbered Malfoy and tore up the castle!"

"I wish I hadn't," Harry said, buttoning up his shirt. Guilt for attacking Malfoy sizzled and smacked in his gut.

Ron, hopping into his trousers, shot him a quizzical look. "I know you have a guilt complex the size of the earth, mate, but seriously. We're talking Malfoy here."

"He's been decent," Harry said. Ron scoffed. "Honestly," Harry added. "He's helping me pursue some answers about my scar."

"Harry!" Ron yelped. "You can't trust him!"

Harry thought about everything he had been forced to tell Draco, everything Draco had confided in return. Their frank discussions from yesterday. Draco letting himself be beaten to secure Harry's magic safely. "I know it sounds weird…but I do."

"Don't get suckered into his head-games," Ron warned.

"It's not a game," Harry said. "We have to work together if we're going to try to use magic in each other's bodies." Ron rolled his eyes. Harry continued hotly, "It's either trust each other, or we both give up magic. And that last option is never gonna happen." He was knotting his tie when he felt something in his pocket grow warm through the fabric. Harry pulled out the three buttons, the bronze Gap, Ron's wooden four-hole, and the blue riveted-edged. The latter was glowing. "Malfoy," he said, surprised.

"Oh, no. You did _not_ get Hermione to make him one of those," Ron griped.

Harry grabbed his robe and rushed out of the room. Ron watched his friend leave, hiding his anxiousness and jealousy beneath anger.

Draco was already at the front doors of the Dynamics room when Harry arrived. "What happened?" Harry asked, clearly worried.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Draco said. He started walking down the hall, and Harry walked alongside him.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"You'll see. We can't talk here."

"Alright," Harry agreed. It wasn't until Draco stopped at a very familiar portrait that Harry started getting suspicious. "Malfoy. Why have you led us to the kitchens?"

Malfoy reached up to the portrait and tickled the pear, opening the secret entrance to the castle's kitchens. "I'm kidnapping you, Potter." he said with a grin. He stepped through the newly formed door, holding it open for Harry. Harry shook his head at the boy, grinning, and followed. He walked into the kitchens, wondering what the hell Draco was up to. He led Harry down to the back of the kitchens, to a side room which kept all the dishware. Massive wooden cabinets with glass panes in their doors showed the hundreds of plates and bowls and cups stacked within. These cabinets lined every wall, and were clearly the singular purpose of this room. Yet…A simple table with a blue cloth spread over it and two chairs waited for them. Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco. "What's this?"

"It's called breakfast. You're joining me today."

Harry laughed at his arrogance and assumption. "You can't just ask like a normal person, you have to scheme and manipulate?"

"Do you remember what House I'm in?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Just to make sure I understand your convoluted idiocy," Harry started, "You're telling me there's no big emergency. This stunt is just for my attention."

"If by 'convoluted idiocy' you mean 'chess master genius', then yes, that about sums it up." Draco gave a cheeky grin.

"For the record, Ron is the chess master," Harry said, enjoying the way Draco's eyes flashed in reaction. It was strange to see his rival's glint in green, but he welcomed signs of the spirit pressing through.

"I would whip his arse in any match," Draco said proudly, a peacock spreading its plumage in conceited boasting.

"I dunno," Harry said. "He defeated the live wizards chess that protected the Philosopher's Stone when he was only in Year One."

"Really? Weasley did that?" It was the first time Draco ever spoke about Ron with something close to consideration. Draco would never admit it, but learning how great Ron's mastery of the game was made him want to play a match with the Gryffindor for the fun of playing an equal. He was starting to memorize Greg's favourite strategies, and it made the game a little dull. Draco hadn't had any other real competition in ages. He shook his head. "Well, as fascinating as it is to learn about the Cunning Weasel, the opening gambit remains…" He held out a chair and sat with coiled grace, keeping eye contact with Harry.

"If I stay," Harry said, knowing that he would, "You can't use that button for every whim and social call. It has to be for emergencies, you twat."

"I usually send paper cranes with my messages," Draco said, taking his button from his pocket. "But until our class with Lupin progresses, I don't have another way to contact you." He rolled the button across his knuckles. "So untwist your knickers and sit down." He smiled at Harry: gauntlet thrown.

Harry relented; he was curious to have a chance at being social with Malfoy. He pulled out a chair and sat. Draco pocketed the button once more. Harry found himself suddenly nervous. "So," he said, carefully casual. "What's with the sudden desire to socialize?"

Draco didn't bat an eye. "Did you tell your friends about yesterday- everything you learned, everything that happened?" Harry's face heated. He said nothing. "I didn't think so," Draco said quietly. "I wanted to see how you are."

"I'm fine," Harry said, the false words coming easily to him.

Draco watched him, waiting. Harry stubbornly refused to elaborate. "Potter, you and I have always told each other exactly what we think. We don't pussy-foot around subjects and we don't play pretend with each other. If becoming your friend means you're going to start hiding yourself from me, I'll walk right now."

Harry's breath caught and he looked away. He wasn't used to burdening people with his stuff. It had been ingrained in him by the Dursleys that nobody wanted to hear it, that expressing his fear or pain would only lead to punishment. He left Ron and Hermione ignorant of the abuse, of the insecurities that plagued him and the terror he would get from Voldemort's visions, never spoke to them about grieving the loss of the Mirror of Erised or Cedric Diggory, never sharing his self-loathing and anguish for leading his godfather to his death. Draco wanted a friendship that was authentic in all his faults and fears. Could he handle a friendship like that? Where he didn't have to be afraid of pity or insincerity?

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything," Harry said softly. He looked up at Draco. "I wanna deck Snape, which isn't particularly new." He smiled. Draco smiled back. Harry took a deep breath, knowing he was stalling. "Watching my mother…" he stopped. The image of her jumping at the crashing noise from her husband's final battle saturated his mind. His heart started beating rapidly. The fear in her eyes… "She was so scared," he said quietly. "And so brave, and so brilliant." He paused. "I wish I could have seen my dad. Which is crazy, cuz it's the moment of his murder. But…I'd have a memory of him. How he held his wand. His go-to curses for defense. Flashes of courage through death. Anything." He smiled. "I must sound so stupid."

"No," Draco said. "I can't imagine not having memory of my family." He smirked and added, "Well, I could do without knowing Aunt Bella." Harry cringed at hearing Bellatrix given titles of endearment, even in the context of someone wishing he didn't know her.

"Good to know there's no love lost there," Harry said. He sighed, pushing himself to meet the crux of Draco's question. "And now we think some broken piece of my parents' murderer is lodged in my head. Does that mean this thing is dead and just stuck? Or is it still alive and hibernating? -can it wake up?" Harry growled in frustration. "I hate not knowing something so important."

"It makes me sick to say it, but I suspect it's alive," Draco said. "At least, on some level…otherwise it wouldn't serve as a tether to You-Know-Who."

Breakfast appeared in front of them, and both boys started loading their plates from the assortment of dishes. "Why won't you say his name?" Harry asked. "Is it fear, respect, what?"

"It's just not done," Draco said. "Potter, if I started using the name, all of Slytherin House would panic. I'm not exaggerating. They would be writing home, and their parents would speculate against my father's loyalty, and the consequences would be unthinkable."

"It's for protection then," Harry said, nodding. "I can get that."

"Then will you please, for the love of all that grows, stop saying it with my mouth already?!"

"I tried, but I don't believe in giving him power over what I can and can't do." Harry shrugged. "Your House knows I say it, they won't think anything against you if I keep

saying it."

Draco couldn't argue with that logic and groaned uncomfortably. "Fiiiiiiine."

"If it makes you feel better, I can give him a nick-name."

"No."

"Moldy Voldy."

"No!"

Harry chuckled, enjoying their quiet breakfast immensely. "So, in the spirit of checking in with each other," Harry started. "How are you holding up after Blaise?"

Draco stiffened. He let out a hard breath through his nose. "It's been hell," he admitted. "They're all watching, judging how their prince holds up. Scrutiny doesn't normally bother me, but this is different. They're looking at our relationship like scavengers picking at carrion." He looked away. "I loved him," he said, wonder stitched to wound. He grimaced and looked back up at Harry. "But that was before I realized he valued sexuality over people. That kind of tarnishes what I thought I knew about him."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean," Draco said slowly. "That he broke up with me because I didn't want him touching me when I was you."

Harry's breath caught. "Malfoy—when I bugged you about making out with Pansy—I was being selfish."

"Potter-"

"No hear me out," Harry said. "I was just surprised at the idea and I reacted badly. My first time in that body is going to be my first time no matter what, so do what you're gonna do. It's not worth losing someone you love."

The enormity of the gift Harry offered was not lost on Draco. Something lonely inside him ached. "You self-sacrificing twit," he said affectionately. "I didn't want him touching someone who wasn't me."

"Oh…heh, yeah, that makes sense," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly. "Were you together long?"

"He's my first love. That makes a day long and a year not enough." He cleared his throat. "Four months, if you want a number."

"That's rough," Harry said.

"Yeah, well. His mother has re-married seven times, it makes sense that his idea of emotional attachment is different from mine."

"That kind of disillusionment…that has to be puncturing."

"It is," Draco said with a sad smile. "But once I get the hang of your magic, I'll just hex him so his balls hang from his chin and everything will be right with the world once more." Harry laughed, and the sound strengthened Draco's smile.

Noticing they had both finished eating, Draco said, "If we head out now, we can make it to the Great Hall for a quick appearance with our Houses before class."

"Good call," Harry said, standing.

They walked through the kitchens, and when they returned to the entranceway Draco stopped. "Potter, one more thing," he said. He touched the lightning bolt scar significantly. "If it's dead, that's fantastic. If it's alive, that means we get to kill it. Win-win, either way."

Harry, tentative, said: "We?"

"I'm in this body, you better believe I'm going to do what I can to carve that thing out." Harry smirked and started to turn towards the entranceway. Draco took his arm, and Harry looked back at him. "Even if we switch first. You can count on it."

Harry gave a tiny smile.

When the pair entered the Great Hall, they shot each other a quick glance, an acknowledgement before splitting apart to join their House tables.

Harry found Ron and Ginny sitting beside each other, with Hermione across from Ron. Harry sat down across from Ginny, smiling at his friends.

"Great timing, you missed breakfast," Ginny said. "Want my toast?"

"Thanks, I'm alright, you go ahead," Harry said. Ginny smiled at him.

"Is Malfoy alright?" Hermione asked. "Ron said he used his button already." She anxiously glanced at the Slytherin table.

"Yeah, he's fine," Harry said.

"I knew it," Ron said. "The ponce was just messing with you."

"Don't be that way," Harry said angrily. "He just wanted to make sure I was okay before class. After everything that went down yesterday…he was worried."

"Worried you were gonna thrash him again, maybe."

"Worried, as in concerned how I'm doing!"

"Oh, come on," Ron said. "You said you were fine immediately after. He just wanted to see if you'd come running like a trained dog if he actually had the nerve to use that button."

"That's not it," Harry grated. "He knows how much power I used, he knew it was intense. We're actually becoming friends." Harry wanted to kick himself the moment the words left his mouth. This wasn't how he wanted to break the news to Ron, in anger.

Ron groaned. "Harry. He hates Hermione for being muggleborn, he hates me for being poor, and he's been obsessed with you since day one. None of these are good reasons to befriend someone."

Harry looked away, ashamed and angry, not knowing how to explain what he had learned about Malfoy. Knowing that what Ron said made sense… but also knowing that Ron's words weren't the limit to Draco's character. He turned to look at the Slytherin table, watching Malfoy. _How do I make them see you? -_Harry wondered. Feeling his eyes, Draco met his gaze and grinned when he caught the boy staring. Harry made a face at him, and Draco retaliated in kind, much to Goyle's disapproval.

Greg whispered to his friend, "Flirting with Potter means flirting with danger."

"Good gods, for a second there I thought you said 'Granger'. I'd sooner hang," Draco joked with his friend.

"I'm serious. People are watching you now more than ever."

"I know, Greg," Draco said solemnly. "I'll be more careful." Greg's already small eyes narrowed to slits. 'More careful' in his understanding of the phrase typically meant 'I'm going to keep doing what I shouldn't'. He sighed, concerned.

Harry looked back at his friends. "I know it's not fair to ask you to understand, when I can't tell you the things that made me change my mind. But please try anyway?"

Hermione looked bewildered. "Harry…I know you're going through a lot with him…but that doesn't erase years of bullying."

"Or the fact that he's a Death Eater in training," Ron piped up.

"He's not," Harry hissed. He glanced around, and realized he had better not say anything more about politics with so many potential eavesdroppers. "Hermione," Harry said urgently. "Ron and I made fun of you in First Year. We made you cry. But then we shared an experience that changed everything, and now you're like a sister to me. Something's happening here, with Malfoy, and I'm sorry we're not sharing the experience together but I swear it's every bit as real."

Hermione pursed her lips, troubled and thoughtful.

"I gotta get to class," Ginny said, with a disproportionate amount of anger to the phrase. She glared at Harry as she stood and left. Harry watched her go, pained.

"Real to you doesn't mean real to him," Ron said. "Don't trust him. He's got an angle, he's selfish and manipulative. You have no idea what's real to him." Scowling, Ron scraped his chair back and stood. "I can't believe we're fighting about this," he added as he stormed off.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling exhausted and hollowed out. A hand squeezed his shoulder. He looked over and saw Hermione smiling at him. "I'll try," she said quietly.

* * *

><p>When Harry got to the Dynamics room, Draco was already seated in the same spot as he was when Remus made him move to the front. Harry decided to take a risk. Instead of sitting with an empty desk between them, he sat next to him. Draco looked surprised. The boys grinned at each other.<p>

Remus arrived, dark circles under his eyes and the glint of pepper-up potion filming his face. "Good morning," Remus said to them both, interested to see them sitting next to each other. "I spent the rest of my day and night reading yesterday, and could not find anything to support our theory regarding the splintered soul. However, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense." He looked at Draco and nodded. "I think you're right. Albus would have no other reason to lie. It's imperative that we learn if this has ever happened before, so we can better predict how it works and how to destroy it. How it works is vital, because most things that lie dormant have a trigger." He looked at Harry. "However, you have not only been in contact with the Dark Lord, you have shared your blood and he has invaded your body through possession. I can't imagine stronger triggers than those, so I believe we are not in any current danger." He smiled kindly. "Nevertheless, it's important to learn anything and everything we can about this situation. I will keep looking, and will update you when I learn anything of importance." Remus paused, and looked between the two boys, waiting to see if either had any questions. When they remained silent, he continued. "Today, we will begin our practical lessons in magic-"

"Praise Morgana in all of her majesty," Draco said.

"—after a brief review the general applications."

"Of course," Draco said snidely. Harry snickered and nudged Draco in the ribs lightly, leaning over to whisper, "Just one more obstacle before you can hex Blaise…"

Draco grinned and elbowed him back.

"As I mentioned in our first lesson," Remus began. "We are used to controlling magic, to ideas of ownership and to claim utilization as a right. For you, that's no longer the case. You have zero access to your magic. Instead, you are given the unnatural ability to tap into someone else's. You have no ownership, no claim. If magic responds to you, it is not only because you're performing the spell correctly or focusing your determination; it's because you've connected to the magic."

Harry looked uneasy. 'Connected to the magic', what did that mean? How was he supposed to do something like that?

"In this state, you will be far more powerful. By using the magic of another, you will have broken the rules of magic, and subsequently be without limitation." Remus paused, seeing the heavy burden of responsibility sink into Harry, seeing the ambition and daydream glitter in Draco. "There's a catch," he said, holding Draco's gaze before continuing. "Historical records of those afflicted by the Switch have all suffered degrees of cost. This unnatural casting causes erosion of magic. Now, with ordinary spells, the diminution is so slight as to not be noticed by the user. In some cases, it's even repaired itself. They were only made aware of the damage though tests. However…those who abused their newfound powers discovered a remarkable lessening in their abilities once returned to their original bodies. For some, it was simply that no other wand could respond to them—no wand, other than the one who had already chosen them, recognized their segmented, rotted magic. For some, they were left barren, their magic burned away. These folks were indistinguishable from muggles."

"No," Draco whispered, horrified.

"I'm afraid so," Remus said. "Which is why you will not be performing wandless magic, or forcing the Switch back, or whatever other absurd thing you might think up." He smiled, teasing. "Do what you know you can, what is in the realm of the possible, and you should be just fine. Start going against the laws of magic, and you'll pull it off…at a cost to the person whose body you're in. You'll feel an itch in your veins. Magic flaking away. If you ever feel this, stop what you're doing immediately." Remus looked at his pupils, noticing how deeply anxious Draco had become. "You're both safe, your magic will be fine. Respect the limits you would normally be confined to, and you'll have nothing to fear."

Harry was filled with a grim dread. The words of the prophecy felt like swords through his chest: _He will have power the Dark Lord knows not. _He couldn't tell them about the prophecy. Not if it meant Harry would have to use this power…and erode Draco's magic. He felt sick.

"Now then," Remus began. "Take out your wands. Get up, and stand here and here." Remus pointed his wand twice, and two 'x's indicated where he wanted them to stand. "We shall begin with a simple spell. Some of the main difficulties you'll face will be connecting to the magic and giving up control, while concurrently limiting the stream that responds. Think of it this way: you have a faucet. You do not control the water. But you can choose whether the water will gush or trickle." Remus smiled at them. "It's tricky, trying to balance. Your release of control must come from a place of humility. Do not demand your magic. Request. Acknowledge its infiniteness, its mystery and power. Form an image of what you want to cast, let the image consume you, reach out to that power within and forge that connection…when the magic accepts your request, the rest should come naturally."

Harry felt horribly awkward. He spent his whole childhood suppressing his magic, trying to shove it away and keep a tight control for fear of the Dursleys…and now he's supposed to –what, exactly? He didn't understand, and he felt stupid that Draco seemed to be taking this all in like it made perfect sense.

Remus set up a long table across from them. He placed two tall candles as targets and stepped back. "Light the candle."

"Sir," Draco sneered the word, clearly disapproving of the title for someone as 'unqualified' as Remus. "Elemental magic isn't for beginners. You said we would do something simple."

"This is the first spell I had to learn after my magic became compromised," he said. "Lighting the candle is an exercise that imbibes the zen mindframe you will need." Remus pulled up a chair and sat, watching the boys and watching the candles.

Draco rolled his eyes and took out his wand. Harry quickly took his own wand out, but kept sneaking glances at Draco, trying to figure out his strategy. Draco closed his eyes, and was breathing slow. Harry turned to face his candle again, and copied Draco. His mind flooded with questions and concern. He tried to concentrate on the spell—but that was wrong, wasn't it? He tried to imagine his magic like a muscle in his chest, and envisioned it contracting its power outward like he wanted. _C'mon, please work,_ he thought. _Just light the candle. It's easy, you've done it before._

Nothing happened. He felt foolish and frustrated. He looked over at Draco, and saw his body loose and relaxed, his face serene…and his arm on fire.

"Remus," Harry said urgently. Remus held up a hand, motioning for silence, watching Draco intently. The fire crept up his elbow, a slinking voyeur wanting a better look. Draco breathed deeply, and just as the fire reached his shoulder joint, he brandished his wand like a whip. The fire roiled down his arm and shot like a fire-hose at the candle, melting it and engulfing the wooden table. Shocked, Draco tried to snap his wand back to end the spell, and the fire shot upwards, aimless. Remus cast quickly, dousing the flames and helping Draco end his spell.

Draco was ashamed that he lost control. He knew logically that letting go of control had been the exercise, but he berated himself harshly for having let go so entirely that it became unmanageable and dangerous.

"Thank you," Draco said, feeling shaky but trying to hide it. "I've never had that level of power over fire. Did…" he swallowed, his self-fury and guilt forming a lump. "Did that do damage to Potter's magic? You said there's a test, can you check?"

"It's alright, Mr. Malfoy," Remus assured. "That was entirely within a wizard's ability, you broke no magical laws. Please don't take my warnings to mean you must exercise paranoia over anything powerful. Just don't purposely test your abilities." Remus scanned Draco's wand arm. "And yes, that was powerful. You didn't burn yourself at all, that's a difficult spell. But not impossible, so stop fretting. Clearly, you will need to work on precision and restraint." Draco nodded. "Harry, what held you back?"

Draco looked at Harry. "Held you back? You mean you couldn't…perform?" he smiled wickedly.

"Shut up," Harry said.

"In other words, I beat you in all of magic?"

"Mr. Malfoy," Remus warned. "This was never a competition."

"You're kidding yourself, of course it was. It always is with us," Draco said, feeling elated. Harry couldn't tell if he wanted to kill the boy or just die himself, he was so irritated and embarrassed.

"Mr. Potter," Remus turned to Harry, ignoring Draco. "What held you back?"

Harry felt his face heating up. "I don't know," he muttered. "I just don't really get how I'm supposed to do it."

Remus kept repeating things Harry thought he might find in a fortune cookie, lines like "Calm your mind and you will find your centre" and "Let the magic find you". It only made Harry more frustrated.

"Okay," Remus said, seeing Harry wall-up like James used to do when his agitation would peak. "Let's take our break early, shall we? Reconvene here in twenty minutes." He left the class room.

Draco watched Harry closely as the boy strode to the table and kicked its leg. The table, being quite heavy, skid across the floor but did not turn over. "This is so stupid," Harry growled.

"Yeah, well. I said from the start the whole 'light the candle' idea was bunk," Draco said. He moved to Harry's side. "What's your favourite spell?"

Harry's frustration was getting the better of him. His shoulders were tight and his mind was rapidly closing. He tried to shuck off his failure, and cracked the doors open.

"Everyone has spells they enjoy using more than others. I hear the she-Weasel is partial to the bat-boogey hex," Draco prodded.

"Don't call her that," Harry said automatically. But his mind was thinking of what spell he might consider a favourite… "The Patronus Charm," he said.

Draco snorted lightly. "Right. Of course Harry-bloody-Potter would choose an incredibly advanced spell as his favourite. Nothing common for famous Potter." Harry rolled his eyes at Draco, a smile trespassing along his mouth. "Give it a shot," Draco suggested. "Using a favourite puts less stress on your concentration."

"The spell isn't the problem," Harry muttered. "It's the entire concept." Harry waited for the teasing.

But it never came.

"You wanna know what I'm doing?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "I'm imagining your magic blending together with my spirit and both energies filling this body together, so my desires and its desires become one."

Harry narrowed his eyes. It sounded hokey. But at least it was a direct instruction: visualize A to get to B. Harry shrugged. He closed his eyes. He let his thoughts tumble through happy memories, and remembered the glee when Ron, Fred, and George rescued him from the Dursleys in their flying car. His mouth twitched into a smile reflexively. He let the memory consume him: they came for him. They tore away the bars on his window and they rescued him. They loved him.

When the memory filled every space he had, he felt tranquility like a quilt warm around him. _Patronus_, he thought, laying the word bare and unassuming. He imagined Draco's magic confined and hiding somewhere in his center, and imagined it spreading through his body, confident and proud, safe and in harmony with the body they shared. _Patronus,_ he asked, an invitation.

He felt it-a fingertap from inside his chest. He knew he had attained allegiance.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry said, eyes open in knowing triumph.

The silver figure that appeared was not a stag. Harry was shocked to see a raven beating smokey, powerful wings, and dark antlers twisting out of the crown of its head like branches.

"Is that…Malfoy, is that your Patronus?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Draco said. "I've never cast the charm. It's beautiful, though… whose ever it is."

Harry knew Tonks's Patronus had changed that year out of mourning. Did his change because he used different magic to conjure it? Or did Draco's magic summon Draco's Patronus?

Was this a real creature, or some mutated combination of his stag and –in theory— Draco's raven? What would it mean if the magic tried to combine a symbol of the spirit with that of another?

"I dare you to send that thing to chase Lupin," Draco said.

"And jumpstart class again? No way," Harry said, as the Patronus landed softly on Draco's shoulder. Draco froze, not sure what it could do, and it rubbed its antlers affectionately against the side of his head. Draco felt a tingling breeze, and happily drowned in its merciless tranquility. The creature nipped his ear and flew on, and Draco felt the chill of its absence. He understood now what his father told him: a Patronus Passing could be addictive.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly. Draco looked so damn smug, that Harry twitched his wand and sent the Patronus to charge him. The raven opened its beak, a silent kaw, and lowered its great antlers as it dove. It puffed impressively in Draco's face, scaled legs extended to almost mirror the rough bark-like antlers. Draco yelped from the unexpected speed, throwing up an arm to protect his face from the onslaught. But of course, the Patronus could not harm him, nor did Harry want it to. Harry laughed, and Draco stepped back from the Patronus and tried to recover his dignity. "Bad form, Potter," he said.

"I'll teach you the charm and you can defend yourself," Harry said. He was curious what Draco's casting would look like, and felt that some secret scale of fairness would be righted if Harry could repay Draco's instruction with one of his own.

That, and the sixteen year old boy thought it would be so damn cool to make the Patronuses have fighting matches against each other. He had images of Nintendo Street Fighter or Pokemon, but only in real life with forces of light.

"I know the charm," Draco reminded him. "Focus on a happy memory, blah blah blah. I just can't do it."

"I taught everyone in the D.A. last year, I can teach you."

"I don't have a memory strong enough," Draco snapped. More evenly, he continued, "Even my best memories are woven with what I could have done better, what political thing was working in the background, guilt…I tried, I can't, just leave it."

Harry stubbornly pursed his lips. "I did it. Despite my parents being murdered, despite the Dursleys, despite being hunted every day by a madman who wants to kill me. That means a pampered little shit like you can do it." Harry realized Draco was getting just as stubborn to _not_ do it, only in order to be _right_. He quickly tried a new tactic. "Neville Longbottom can do it."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "No, he can't."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, actually. He can. But that's okay. Maybe Neville's just a better wizard than you are."

"A better—" Draco sputtered. "Schlongbottom is _not_ a better wizard than I am!"

"Prove it," Harry said simply. "If I could teach him, I can teach you."

Draco steamed, thinking. "If Longbottom can produce a corporeal Patronus on command, then I'll give your lessons a try. A very limited try."

"Deal."

They spent the rest of the morning focusing on the candle exercise. Harry continued to have trouble with it, at the last second clamping down control automatically. Only a dribble of fire reached the wick of his candle, making it glow and sputter out. Like Draco predicted, the Patronus charm was an ingrained preference; the rest of magic would take practice. Draco had the opposite problem, and his magic kept an all-or-nothing regiment.

At lunch, Ron and Ginny made a point of sitting further down the Gryffindor table than normal. "Are you kidding me?" Harry said, sitting across from Hermione and watching his friends ignore him.

"They're just worried about you, give them time to figure things out," Hermione soothed. "How was class?" she asked. Harry moaned and complained about how cryptic and difficult it was. Hermione wished dearly she could help him, but intuitively connecting was not her strong suit; it was why she had trouble riding brooms. "Oh!" she said, the realisation making her gasp. "Harry, how do you ride a broom?" He looked at her quizzically. "You work _with_ the broom, right? You have faith that it will do its part properly, as long as you do yours? Everytime you start to seize up at the end of a spell, just think of riding a broom and have faith in Malfoy's magic."

Harry's eyes lit up. Finally, something that made sense. "Hermione, you're amazing," Harry said. She grinned, thrilled that she could help figure it out.

Harry re-entered class with confidence, and by the end of the day he lit the candle perfectly. Draco continued to have more flame than necessary, but he had improved significantly by practicing all afternoon.

As students filed into the Great Hall for dinner, Dumbledore watched them carefully. A disturbing number of students had come to him to argue against the use of the Hogwarts Secret. Several cases of students attempting to override it had been made. One student tried to Imperious another into writing a letter about what had happened. The battle between the secrecy curse and the Unforgivable scarred her mind so deeply that she fell into a coma. It took two days for Madam Pomfrey to revive her. Numerous other attempts at communicating the situation had been made, but none as dire—and so far, none successful. There is great power in apologizing: those who oppose you are brought to your side through forgiveness. With this in mind, Dumbledore stood from his seat. "Students of Hogwarts," He boomed for their attention. The Great Hall stilled. "I fear the Hogwarts Secret has caused much resentment among you. I acknowledge that it is an extreme breach, and I apologize for my use of force." He paused. "But with lives at stake, I could do nothing less than use my full power to prevent such a cost. We are officially at war. And unfortunately, many students come from homes of those who support Voldemort's reign. This puts our school in the precarious position of protecting a range of individuals, from the Chosen One himself to anyone aspiring to join Voldemort. With that in mind, I could not in good conscience allow the possibility of anyone jeopardizing the safety of my students, and extreme measures had to be taken.

"However…I recognize the injustice at forcefully revoking your freedom of speech. I want you to know that I agree with each and every one of you, that this step is a travesty and I wish it didn't have to be made.

"In my apology, I would like to offer a series of tokens: new privileges that you do not normally have access to during the school year. This can in no way undo the harm in my curse, but I hope that you find I am trying in the only way I know how to reissue some state of fairness." He paused again, gauging the reactions. Students began chattering, thinking somehow they would not be noticed, and he gave them a brief leash to do so.

"The first token," he began again, scanning the crowd for attention. "Will be in one week. Halloween is one of our greatest holidays, and although we at Hogwarts decorate lavishly in celebration, we do not normally allow the festivities you may find at home." The twinkle in his eye seemed to flash a wink. "Therefore, this Halloween, for the first time in Hogwarts history, we will expand ourselves to include a variety of traditions and opportunities for you to indulge in." A chorus of guesses, hopes and demands filled the air. Dumbledore held out a hand, silently requesting their continued attention. A few minutes longer than he would have liked, they quieted. "Samhain is not simply the new year: it is a time in between time. Magic is at its strongest, the dead who rest peacefully may reach across the divide, and divination is accessible even to muggles." The ghosts perked up importantly at the part about the dead. "Accessible all-day: students will be allowed to transfigure their school robes into costumes. For those of you who need help with the charms, Professor Flitwick has a sign-up sheet and will gladly assist you. Please use common sense when choosing costumes. While Anachoridia the Unflattered may be a wonderful feminist icon, attending school wearing nothing but a feather headdress will not be tolerated." Giggles sprayed across the room. "Donning costumes and masks was, in our earliest traditions, meant to either hide from or represent spirits and gods. This ritual caught on within muggle circles, and they currently will dress as any avatar that pleases them." Some snickers from purebloods across the school. "All appropriate forms of costuming will be welcomed here at Hogwarts, be they muggle inspired or traditional." Dumbledore said. "Accessible to all students after dinner: we will serve Fuarag for dessert." Chittering broke out as those with wizarding parents who knew the tradition grew excited or groaned. "Fuarag is a great treat made of oatmeal and thick cream churned until froathy. It is served in a large bowl meant for half a dozen to consume together. Everyone dives in with their spoons, but be careful you don't eat your fortune." He smiled at them. "If you are unsure what your item means, inquire around you. In turn, if you see someone unsure, promote community and offer your family's interpretation." He paused again before continuing. "Available to all students after dinner: Professor Trelawny will supervise a multitude of divination stations, aimed from our most traditional rituals inquiring after luck, health, death and marriage. Perhaps most exciting of all, I'm afraid, is this last offering made only to those in Year Five and above." Some petulant noises from the younger years. "Masks have incredible power, and on Samhain their might can be unchained. Wearing a mask on Halloween, under proper ritual, can allow the wearer to absorb the power of whatever creature their mask portrays. Professors McGonagall and Snape will be supervising, and will require you to sign up in advance. You will be given a choice of masks provided, which will be pre-treated with the less exciting work of ritual so they will be ready for you. This is an opportunity to become whatever animal you've always wanted to be, to fly, to breathe underwater, to feel the raw power and the grace unreachable to humans. A warning," Dumbledore spoke his last words harsher, meaning to recaptivate his audience. "Masked experiences are very real, and take you into another world. You may temporarily lose yourself to your mask. Depending on the age and power of the mask, it may speak to you. This can be disconcerting to some. Our professors are equipped to handle any situation that may break out, you will be entirely safe. But some masks are darker than others, and may lead you someplace you don't want to be. If you're willing to take the risk, it's an experience unlike any other." He smiled gently. "I've talked enough. Eat up! Enjoy. And know that more privileges will be opened to you throughout the year."

The Great Hall filled with chatter.

"I haven't dressed up for Halloween since I was a little girl," Hermione gushed. "I have so many ideas…what are you going to dress up as?" She asked Harry. Harry shrugged. "I'm already in costume, really," he joked, giving her a deflecting smile. It didn't work.

"Oh come on! It'll be fun. What would you want to be? I could help you."

"Honestly, 'Mione, Halloween was never a big deal to me," Harry said. "The Dursleys only took me out so the neighbours wouldn't ask about me, and so Dudley could have my sack of candy. I had the exact same costume every single year: Bedsheet ghost."

"Ohh, Harry," Hermione gave an uncomfortable laugh. "That's awful!"

"Yeah well. My last Halloween, I was ten, and as Dudley and I are walking ahead of my aunt and uncle, Dudders grabs my arm and tells me he used my costume as his spunk sheet all night the night before." Hermione looked horrified and Harry laughed. "I had just thought it was smelling musty from being in storage all year. When he explained to me what he meant, in graphic detail, I freaked out and threw the sheet to the ground. My aunt and uncle were furious at the scene I was making, but I refused to put it back on. Uncle Vernon took me home—" _and beat me until I couldn't stand. _"—and wouldn't let me go back out trick or treating," he said instead.

"Clearly, you need to have at least one Halloween where you're not a bedsheet ghost," Hermione insisted. "And you certainly need a better Halloween than _that_ to be your last!" Harry laughed. "Just think about it. You could be a knight, you'd make a wonderful knight Harry. Or-" Hermione continued making suggestions, and Harry tuned her out for a bit, nodding thoughtfully in all the right places. He wasn't interested in wearing a costume in Draco's body. It was too weird. He knew his decision would be more acceptable to Hermione if he pretended to appease her and consider options.

Suddenly, Draco was standing at his side. "Finished eating yet, Potter? You and I have a bet to settle."

"What, here?!" Harry asked. He glanced over at Neville. His friend had gained a world of confidence over the last year, but he still had performance anxiety in crowds. Malfoy wanted him to do the Patronus charm in front of the entire school, in front of Snape?!

"You said he could produce a Patronus on command," Draco drawled, the sound deeper in Harry's voice.

"Yeah but…that's unfair!" Harry said.

"Unexpected is not the same as unfair. Can he do it, or not?"

Harry paused to think. He knew Neville could, in all technical aspects, do it. But…he would be facing several fears, to do it in front of everybody and with Snape's judgement hovering over him. Could Harry help him past that?

"Whom are we talking about?" Hermione inquired politely.

"Longbottom," Draco said without looking at her.

"Of course he can do it," Hermione said. "And fully corporeal, too!"

"That would, indeed, be impressive," Draco said, smiling at her.

"Well, he had an excellent teacher," Hermione beamed at Harry.

"Yeah, he can do it," Harry said. He stood up from his seat and walked to where Neville was eating the last of his dinner. "Hey, Neville," Harry started, unsure how to diplomatically—

"Potter and I have a bet," Malfoy interjected. Harry closed his eyes. _That fucker._

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, looking sheepishly at Neville. "See, I told him how powerful your Patronus is. Would you indulge me and cast it?"

Neville looked between the two boys. "Here?" he asked, voice flat. Harry's heart dropped. This was too big for him, Harry was going to humiliate his friend—

"Yeah," Harry said, forcing himself to stop thinking. "You faced down a hoarde of Death Eaters and broke into the Ministry. You got this."

Neville looked at Draco, the face of his friend sneering back at him. He knew Malfoy didn't think he could do it. It was such an impossible idea to Malfoy, that he made a bet over it. It made Neville angry, but it also disheartened him. Was he honestly such a terrible wizard that this is how others spent their time? Making bets on his abilities? "I don't think our professors would want me to have a Patronus flying in the Great Hall," he mumbled quietly.

"By 'our professors', you mean Snape," Draco said. "Who, by the way, is watching with keen interest what I'm doing at your table, so you'll have his full attention."

"Knock it off, Malfoy," Harry said. "Look, Neville, I've seen you do this spell dozens of times. You're aces. You're not the same kid who bumbled about in First Year, you're a badass wizard. If I could have asked for anyone to be at my side last year, I would have chosen you."

He didn't believe Harry. He was pretty sure Harry wouldn't have chosen him…but he thought back to something Luna had said to him recently: _Let go of what you are, to become what you could be._ What better time than now?

Neville stood up, brandishing his wand. "Alright," he said quietly. "Give me a minute." He ignored Draco's snicker as he closed his eyes and concentrated on his happiest memory. The scent of bubblegum filled him, as he concentrated on the singular moment when his mother recognized him and gave him the wrapper as a gift. He imagined what she saw it as—something precious. And as she saw it, so it had become. The same way that she looked at her son. "Expecto Patronum!" he said, force and deliberation. An eight foot tall silver bear towered over them, shaking its shaggy head and roaring silently as it padded on all fours across the Great Hall.

Mama Bear.

Students shrieked and gawked, pointing and cheering. Remus crowed "Bravo!" from the Head table, and Snape looked disgusted. Dumbledore stood once more and, with a fancy flourish of his wand, compelled the Patronus to return to Neville and disappear in misty vapours.

Draco was grinning ear to ear. "Longbottom, that was pretty incredible. Well done."

"Thanks, Malfoy," Neville said. The school was buzzing his name in admiration. He felt his ears go red, and he sat down quickly. Seamus thumped him congratulatory on the back, and the members of Dumbledore's Army all raised their glasses in the air with a cheer. Even when McGonagall took a hard twenty points from Gryffindor for flagrantly disrupting the dinner hour, the Houses still talked about how great it had been.

After dinner, Draco had retired to his room to work on the strange parchment again. He hadn't looked at it last night, too exhausted from the day to bother. He took it out now, sitting on his bed, prodding it impatiently with his wand tip. It remained blank. He huffed, wondering why it only sometimes communicated. "I know the true names of half your company," he said imperiously. "Messer Wormtail is Peter Pettigrew, and Messer Prongs is James Potter." That got its attention. Splotches of ink spat across the page. Draco furrowed his brows. He wondered if they were squabbling over who would speak first, or if they were so indignant they were past words? Finally: _Messer Mooney can neither confirm nor deny. Messer Mooney insists you reveal your source, and why it offers merely half the names you seek._ Draco thought carefully if he wanted to reveal the truth, not wanting to give everything away, but also not seeing how the information could be more useful than at this moment. "Remus Lupin told me," he said. Immediately: _Messer Mooney can give complete confidence that you lie. Remus Lupin would not name half and hold secret the other. Had he trusted you, all would be known. You Are A Thief._ "I am a thief. I believe that was known when I stole you from Potter's trunk. I didn't steal this information. Remus Lupin told me that James Potter was known as Prongs." _Messer Padfoot puts his faith in Remus Lupin. _"What is your relationship to Lupin?" No answer. In frustration, Draco said, "Do you know James Potter is dead?" Manic ink splotches. Foaming across the page, Draco's words were written in the Marauder's curly cursive. They were stuck on the question. Draco swore. They had never written his own words out before. _Shit,_ he thought, giving the paper a shake, then trying to talk it back to normal. It either wouldn't or couldn't listen, his question left bold across its surface. _Goblin crotch,_ he swore. He folded it and returned it to its hiding spot, hoping that after time the boil would simmer and cool once more.

A knock at the door. Angry, he threw the door open with a snarled "What?" Crabbe stood awkwardly outside. "Sorry—come in," Draco said, stepping aside for his friend. He closed the door behind Crabbe.

"Uh, Pansy wanted me to see if you were still coming downstairs…?" Crabbe asked, uncertain to Draco's mood.

"Yeah, she said eight," Draco agreed.

"It's eight-twenty."

Draco groaned. He felt like he hadn't had a moment to breathe all day. How had the time become so late?

Crabbe glared at the rose hanging upside down over his desk. "You should take that down. It's not good for you."

Draco knew without looking what Vince was referring to. He sighed. "Not yet…I need it." Draco suddenly felt very small.

"No you don't." Crabbe was trying his best to appear cheerful and encouraging. He saw the grief and exhaustion on his friend. "Can I give you some advice?" He moved closer, clapping his massive hand on Draco's bony shoulder. Draco nodded. "Don't fall in love." Draco laughed, and the fingers squeezed him gently. "I'm serious. People like you can't ever fall in love and have it end happily. Love will only bring you this." He paused, and then, trying unsuccessfully to hide the disgust from his voice, added: "If you have to conquer men sexually, consider them disposable: use once then discard." His voice grew gentle again. "Love just isn't in the cards for people like you. Not if you want to keep your family." Draco felt Crabbe's words stab through him, the lump in his throat a cactus. He closed his eyes. "I'm worried about you. Why do people risk a broken heart? To find the person they can commit the rest of their lives to, to find someone they can call family. You can never have that with a man, so stop risking, alright? Concentrate on your future family. Concentrate on Pansy." Draco looked up at Vince, saw the honesty in the man's eyes.

"Maybe," he whispered, the defeat and compounded grief aching. Everything Vince said made sense. But the idea of giving up on romance, love, sex with passion and meaning… it was so much to lose.

"Yes! Yes, that's the first step, you recognize what you gotta do. We'll all help," Vince said, letting his arm slide across his shoulders in a quick hug. How long had it been since Vince had hugged him? Draco couldn't remember.

He let his friend lead him upstairs, barely remembering to grab parchment and quill as he left.

"Finally! Where have you—" Pansy trailed off as she saw Draco's eyes. "Hey…sit down," she said. He sat next to her mutely. Crabbe quickly went to go find Goyle and tell him how he had converted Draco back to the natural laws. "What happened?" Pansy asked gently, stroking his hair back. He smiled at her. She was so good to him; he wished he could love her.

"I'm just deep in my head today," he said, quiet. She nodded; she understood not going into detail in the common room and did not take his reservations personally. She rolled out the top parchment in her lap, and reviewed the notes she took in History of Magic with Draco. Dumbledore may have suspended their regular schoolwork but Draco was determined to remain top of the class, even if he wasn't there to do it.

A deep chuckling tore Draco out of his concentration. He knew that laugh too well. He looked up and saw Blaise leaning over some doe-eyed fifth year boy, tugging the boy's tie until he was close enough to kiss. Draco felt like ice water had filled his lungs, ice crystallizing and sharp against the thin membranes, choking him and heavy in his chest. He felt his jaw drop slightly, knew better than to let his pain show but couldn't seem to prevent it. Pansy looked up, saw Blaise snogging the living hell out of some boy, and put a hand on Draco's thigh.

"We've barely—how could he?" Draco whispered. Blaise opened his eyes while kissing, and looked directly at Draco. Draco closed his mouth quickly and tried to glare, but knew that his eyes were wet. Blaise closed his eyes to him and kissed the boy deeper.

"Let's get out of here, go have a girls night, yeah?" Pansy said. Draco nodded. Jealousy, anger, and pain all collided within him, sending his blood running for cover. "I'm going to put these in my room," she said, rolling her parchment again. "Grab some Firewhiskey, and meet you out front in just a minute."

"Thanks, Pansy," Draco said. She leaned forward and kissed him, a gentle quick kiss like they had given each other since they were five years old. She trotted downstairs, trying not to appear to be rushing but rushing all the same.

"I learned a neat little hex that will painlessly melt the flesh and muscle around their jaws away. It looks super gross and it'll traumatize them for life. Wanna see?" Greg said quietly in Draco's ear. Draco smiled. He was so engrossed with Blaise's display—like a train wreck you can't look away from—that he hadn't heard Goyle approach him.

"Tempting," he said. "But I can't. Not publically."

"Of course _you_ can't," Goyle said, aiming his wand at the pair. "And I'll expect you to rightfully scold me for my insubordination." He looked at Draco, waiting for confirmation.

A tiny nod, barely perceptible, but Greg caught it right away. He hexed the pair, and their jaw skin slickened to jelly and splattered to their feet. They pulled away from each other just in time to see their muscles grey and rot, unravelling from their faces, leaving their jaws unsupported and slack, the crisp white bone cold and exposed. They screamed bloody murder, and Draco leapt to his feet to yell at Greg: "We do not attack our own! No matter how malicious their actions! Undo this at once!" Greg stalled by pretending to apologize to Draco for shaming their House, simply wanting to prolong the boy's fear. Pansy came up the stairs seconds before Greg applied the counter-curse.

"Thanks for the nightmares, Greg," she said. He grinned at her, pleased she approved.

"That was uncalled for!" Blaise howled at Draco.

"No, making out with someone directly in front of me fresh after our breakup was uncalled for. It was cheap and cruel."

"Don't you dare claim jealousy when you refused me!" Blaise yelled.

Draco felt his shoulders stiffen. He walked slowly towards his ex. "Do you think this stunt is a way to win me back?" he asked softly. "By seeing you with someone else, I'll change my mind about everything I said?" The flicker of uncertainty in Blaise's eyes gave him away. Draco laughed, a single staccato puff. "You really don't know me very well, do you?" He turned back to Pansy and quietly took her hand, leading her out of the dungeons.

The two Slytherins walked the corridors in silence, for although not terribly late, they knew Mrs. Norris would love to chase them back to their dorms for walking so close to curfew. They made it without incident to the seventh floor of the castle, and paced the wall opposite the tapestry of trolls dancing ballet. A door appeared. Draco squeezed her hand, and let it go to open the door for her.

The Room of Requirement had transformed itself into a dark blue club. It had the appearance of being underwater, with its black floor and blue stretching towards the ceiling. Beads of light swam through the air, gently pulsating all around them. Fairie music played, which meant that they could not hear it. The otherworldly notes were unreachable to human ears, but played so loud that they could feel the vibrations strum the ground, shake the air, move their blood, competing with their hearts as their body's drum. Dance music played at a conversational level, so you didn't have to scream to be heard.

Pansy pulled her bottle of Firewhiskey out and the club filled with wizards—human props the room created for them. She sashayed to the bartender and gave him the bottle, instructing him to keep their drinks coming all night. She brought two glasses back to Draco, who appreciatively took one.

Draco closed his eyes, instructing the room to alter their clothes to match the dancers. Pansy gasped when she felt her clothes morph, and grinned at the sparkling slashed number created for her. Draco wore a fine black mesh top and black ostrich leather jodhpurs, bronze buttons running down each calf. "Looking good," Pansy said to him, reaching out to tossle his hair. "But you gotta run with Potter's mussed-up look to make it perfect." Draco suddenly wondered at the image he made, gulping the rest of his drink at the idea of Harry's ass in these tight pants…

Pansy laughed, and true to her instruction a golden octopus swam the air towards them and refilled Draco's glass, touching up the sip missing from Pansy's while he was there before leaving again.

"Let's dance," Draco said. He grabbed her hand, pulling her to the dance floor. She giggled, a free laugh that only he could ever bring out of her.

They moved to the centre of the crowd, and Pansy realised she was the only female. _Smart room,_ she thought with a grin. Her and Draco began to dance, rolling their hips and shoulders, happy to dance together but watching the men around them. Favourite songs would come on, and they'd dance goofy and exaggerated, singing along drunkenly, and the octopus would refill their drinks past the point where he ought to have stopped. A revamped, modern version of a centuries-old song came up, and Pansy surprised Draco by taking the lead and attempting a faster-paced version of the traditional dance that accompanies the original. Draco laughed, trying to keep up with her and reverse the role he had learned. "Where did you learn the men's role?" he asked, his face hurting from laughing so much. "My cousin Irene-" she said, palm-to-palm with Draco and spinning him. "—would insist on playing Ballroom every time she visited. But she always had to be the princess." She pulled Draco close to her. "And since you're the biggest queen I know…" Pansy said as they alternated quick steps circling each other.

"Oh really?" Draco said, laughing with her. He leaned forward and kissed her. For the first moment, Pansy expected a kiss like any of the hundreds they had shared through the years—like one gives to family. But his mouth felt hot against hers, opened and pressed eagerly, inhaling her scent like it was the only air he had. She felt dizzy, from surprise, dance, and Firewhiskey. She realised they had stopped dancing, and that somewhere in her shock she had begun kissing him back.

She pulled away, his hands on her waist and her hands on his arms. "What was that?" She asked. She watched him, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her mouth. He griped her waist tighter.

"I…I'm not sure," he said.

Her eyes widened as the truth hit her. "Harry's straight," she said.

"Yeahhh," Draco groaned as if admitting something bad.

"You…" she hesitated. "You want me," she said, letting herself press against him. She felt the tremor run through his entire body.

Suddenly, the party atmosphere evaporated around them. They were back in their uniforms, the room shifting smaller. It became a bedroom, walls decoratively layered with three sets of white curtains pulled to create pattern. You couldn't see an inch of actual wall. The bed was large, as white as a shark's belly, with a lace runner across the foot of the bed. Two antique, white bedside tables with curled feet stood guard at each side of the bed, with shining silver candelabras proudly holding lit ivory taper candles.

Draco looked at the scene, and gently took a step back from Pansy, hands still holding her waist and firmly keeping her at a small distance from him. "I can't," he whispered hoarsely. But the room remained the same, knowing his desire. "Blaise and I broke up because I couldn't…"

"Blaise looked at you and saw Harry," Pansy said. She reached up and took his face, making him look at her. "Do you know what I see?" she whispered. "Desire. I see you behind those green eyes, and I see you yearn for me. Do you know how precious that is?" She let her hands slide down to his neck, one reaching back to entwine with his hair.

"If and when we're married, we will do our duty to our families to produce children. But we both know it will be awful. You will be drugged, thinking of someone else, performing a chore you wish you didn't have to do. And I am going to feel like a criminal forcing you." She felt his hands on her waist relax as she stroked his hair, and slowly, gently, began to move closer to him again. "Don't you see? Draco…I only want your desire. I don't care about your body." She felt his thumbs make tentative stroking motions up and down her sides. He was glancing at her mouth again, but didn't move. "Give me my honeymoon," she whispered. "Give me a memory where you're _you_, not drugged and far away. An experience where we both want this. One beautiful, real night together…just one." Neither could be sure who leaned in first, but soon they were kissing.

Time swirled as if it too had been drinking with them, stretching out and letting them enjoy seconds as minutes, minutes as hours. Draco moved to kiss her neck, amazed at how soft her skin was, licking the shell of her ear before biting her lobe. He suddenly pulled back, afraid. He had no idea if girls liked biting. He knew nothing about girls. Panic sharpened his already racing pulse. She'd be expecting someone who knew these things. "Pansy," he gasped. She was kissing his neck, suckling the spot that curved from shoulder to neck. "I've never—that is…I missed the Preparation," he stammered, ashamed. "I have no idea how to…I've never, with a girl."

She pulled back gently to look him in the eyes. His admission surprised her—she had undergone her Preparation when she was fourteen. Most boys did when they were thirteen. How had he 'missed' his? Why hadn't he ever told her before now? "It's alright," she reassured him. "We'll figure it out together." Her acceptance melted him, and he tried to show her how much it had meant.

His kiss was deep, and he pulled her lower back to press her belly and hips flat against his. She arched into him, allowing her full body to mold to his advances. The press of her breasts against his chest was shockingly erotic. Stars pulsated behind his eyes as his tongue tickled the roof of her mouth, the taste of her mapping itself through his body. Her hands pulled the fabric of his dress shirt out of his pants. Once released, she ran her hands under his shirt up his back. His hand moved from her back to her elbow, petting up her arm and across her shoulder, cupping the side of her face. He slid his thumb beneath her chin and, breaking their kiss, he firmly but gently tilted her head back. She submitted, baring her neck to him. He kissed her throat, leaving a purple bruise to bloom after sucking a tender spot.

She stepped back, locking her eyes to his as she raised the wool cardigan over her head. She let it drop to the ground, smoothing her hair self-consciously for any static. Draco smiled, also removing his sweater. She quickly stepped back in, her long fingers making short work of the buttons on his shirt. He again followed her lead, reaching to her and undoing the buttons of her own shirt, though his fingers fumbled from nerves and excitement while hers were clever and nimble.

She loosened his tie while he was still working on her buttons, letting the silk fall to the ground and spreading his shirt open. She ran fingers over ribs like she would piano keys. _How was a celebrity like Harry Potter so underweight? _She shoved the miscreant thought away, not caring about the answer. She was here with Draco.

Pansy's tie joined Draco's at their feet. He gently edged her shirt off her shoulders, and she let her arms drop so he could remove it entirely. He sucked in his breath, seeing her in her white bra. He kissed her, marvelling at this moment. It was so surreal, so powerful. His hands trembled as he traced her back, causing goosepimples to raise across her arms. His fingertips read her skin like braille, taking in every curve, every raised vertebra, a mole by her shoulder blade. She sighed softly into his mouth, the contrast of his gentle movements and his rough hands leaving her body humming. Draco reached her bra, and tried to feel for a button. While not finding any buttons, he did discover the fabric seemed to be folded over the opposite side of fabric. Snaps? Hooks? What held this thing on? He fiddled, trying to disguise his ignorance. She smiled against his mouth, knowing he was having trouble. She let him struggle a bit longer before she whispered, "Need some help with that?"

Draco growled. "How do straight boys manage these blasted things?" She giggled at him, reaching back with one hand and popping it open in one motion. He couldn't believe it. "…Tell me you used wandless magic to do that."

"Sorry love," she said. She was suddenly nervous herself, and tried to look like a worldly temptress instead of a schoolgirl as she let her bra slide off her arms and to the floor. Her heart was pounding as Draco stared openly at her. Fear infected her desire. _He's having second thoughts, _she worried, not knowing why he was just staring at her and not moving.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. Her fragility shattered over her, her heart overwhelmed with the rawness of joy. Shyly, he leaned forward to kiss her, careful not to let his bare chest touch hers. She moved slightly forward so her nipples would graze him, and he moaned into her mouth. His hands gripped her back and pulled her into him, one hand rubbing up her spine, the other trailing exploratory along the curve of her waist. Her waist was so tiny, and her hips flared enticingly, making the curve pronounced and utterly fascinating to him. Pansy reached down to squeeze his ass with both hands, pressing his groin into hers. She swelled and ached when she felt how hard he was, the length of him pushing against her almost painfully.

Hesitant fingers moved from her waist towards her breasts, tracing around their curves questioningly. She moved her torso back from him, stretching her neck to continue kissing but giving his hands access to her breasts. He continued his infuriating tracing, still outlining her breasts and not reaching for them. She keened for him to stop teasing, chanting silently in her head for him to just touch her. Her knees nearly gave out when he finally did, a gasp falling from her lips as he squeezed her.

He felt her body dip, and picked her up. She barely weighed a thing, and his large hands securely held her knees and shoulders as he moved her to the bed and laid her down. She pushed his open shirt off his shoulders as he leaned over her. He kissed her nipples, amazed at how big they were compared to men's. Her breasts were so soft. He cupped one and massagingly squeezed, alternating between watching how she moved in his hands and watching her eyes, her exposed enjoyment equally enthralling. He felt a tugging sensation in his navel stronger than any portkey, and he found his hips gently roll towards her. She cried out when he gripped her too tight, sitting up a tiny bit. "Sorry," he said, alarmed. She smiled at him, and gripped his hair to drag him up for a kiss.

She flipped him to his back, kissing her way down his face and torso, licking and nipping as she went. She flicked the leather of his belt through its hoop, opening the buttons to his trousers. "Lift your hips," she said. His mind, overcome with sensation and liquor, conjured memories of times Blaise had said the same thing to him. It stung, and made him smile at the same time. He complied, tucking the memories back someplace safe and away. She pulled his trousers and pants, drawing her hands down his legs as she dragged them off his body, catching socks and shoes as she went. He laid naked before her, watching her as if she were something otherworldly, goddess-like.

She crawled, predatory, towards his cock. Average width, a good length—

Circumcised.

She paused, running hands over his thighs. She had been taught that some half-bloods and most muggleborn boys had muggle doctors remove the tips of their penis shortly after birth, but she had never expected to have to deal with it. It was always her assumption that any lovers she would take would be pure blood. Circumcision, she had been taught, was created during a time where men suffered getting sand caught in the foreskin. Wizards never had this problem, using magic to maintain health and cleanliness, and circumcision was considered mutilation among most pure bloods.

She watched it, curious. It looked less like a man's organ and more like a steel rod. She felt sorry for it, wanting to give it its little hat back. But it also, strangely, excited her. It simply looked harder, she decided. She wrapped her fingers around it, momentarily concerned—some of her taught techniques were all about how to work the foreskin. Recklessly, she abandoned the syllabus and leaned down to take him in her mouth instead.

Draco threw his head back as she mercilessly took his full length, her lips pressed tight against his base, the tip of his penis stroking the back of her throat. She hummed, knowing she had always excelled at this, proud and relieved she could excite him. She wanted to make him remember the time he enjoyed being with her through their long years of marriage. Her mouth slid up and down, her tongue sweeping around his tip on every stroke. One hand on his hip, she softly massaged his sack with the other, waiting for that telltale moment when he grew close.

"Pansy," he moaned. Her heart fluttered to hear him say her name so lustfully. Never had she felt so powerful.

She skilfully brought him near the point of no return before releasing him, stretching her body across his for a kiss. He gripped her hair, his mouth demanding on hers, biting her lower lip and sucking it before pressing in for the kiss once more. He gently rolled her to one side, his hand petting her thigh. She spread her legs. He reached under her skirt, tracing strong hard lines up her thigh just to her bikini line before letting his fingers retreat back down her leg. After teasing her a bit, he reached for her zipper. Pansy shifted, helping the removal of her skirt and knickers. Draco took her shoes off, peeled her knee high socks down and caressed her calves. He firmly moved her legs apart, kneeling between them.

His hand moved to stroke her cunt, figuring that was a safe start. "Oh, gods, you're so wet," he murmured. She felt like olive oil over silk. She writhed and gasped under him as he stroked her with differing pressures, trying to figure out what tempo she responded to best. "Help me," he said quietly. She looked at him, saw the uncertainty in his eyes. She reached her hand over his, bringing his fingers to her clitoris. She moaned appreciatively, arching her hips into his hand and pressing his fingers down. She showed him which way to rub her and then pulled her hand away. He had no idea what this little nub was, but it was fantastic, making her hips buck and her legs twitch.

She closed her eyes tight, fistfuls of blanket in each hand. Draco grinned, still rubbing her, and leaned down to replace his hand with his mouth. His tongue stroked her and she cried out. Swiping his tongue lower and back, licking that spot and sucking hard, his mouth massaging around her. To his delight she started begging. "Oh gods, oh please," she babbled. Her juice, her scent, were pressed and spread across his face, and it was driving him absolutely wild. He lowered his mouth to her entrance, probing it with his tongue, slickening her further with his saliva, and his cock throbbed. He slid a finger inside her.

"Ohhh," she sighed. "Please…I need you."

"Be specific, love," he teased, voice deep as he slid another finger inside her. She groaned, tilting her hips up. "What do you need?"

"I need…your cock," she gasped. "Please, Draco. I need you to fill me."

Draco brought himself up again, kissing her. Gripping his cock, he torturously moved himself to stroke its head against her cunt. "I can't believe we're doing this," he panted.

"Me neither," she said, also breathless. She smiled.

"Stop me if I hurt you," he said, staring into her eyes.

"You won't," she whispered.

He pushed himself in slowly, his mouth falling open. Draco hid his face next to hers, feeling a tremor pulse through him after sheathing himself wholly inside her body. "Oh, gods…" he whimpered. He thrust long and slow. "You're perfect," he murmured, kissing her neck. A tiny laugh fluttered out her throat. This was every dream she'd ever had, twisted and morphed into the strangeness of reality. Her pale legs slid up, hooking her ankles around his waist. She didn't care. She didn't care that she was fucking a body whose owner was not conscious to it, she didn't care that this was the body of the arch enemy. Politics, both individual and within the framework of war, meant nothing. The only matters of importance were in saliva, sweat, and other fluids of arousal; in groans and rhythm and names cried. In that splendid, aching need in his eyes, tremulous and tender.

"Pan," he moaned, her name so thick in his mouth that he had to swallow it. "Pansy," he tried again. "I'm so close…"

She ran her hands over his back, pumping her hips harder with him. They kissed as his body surrendered, Draco's climax taking both seed and breath from him. She stroked his hair, as she so often liked to do. After a long pause, he pulled out of her, hissing slightly and laying by her side.

"That…that was…wow," Draco said intelligently. Pansy giggled. She felt his excitement deep within her and slip between her thighs, hot and sticky. She nuzzled against his chest, content. "Did you…?" he asked.

She looked up at him. She could so easily lie, and the openness in his eyes told her he'd believe her without question. "No," she said. She couldn't quite bring herself to deceive her best friend. He looked embarrassed and guilty. She tapped his nose with her finger. "That doesn't mean I didn't have an _excellent_ time, though."

"Yeah, but…"

"Girls are built a little different. You may have noticed this," she smirked. He smirked back. "We have lots of levels of enjoyment. Sometimes, having fun is the main pursuit."

He couldn't seem to quite wrap his mind around that. "Well…next time," he promised.

"There can't be a next time," she said quietly.

"Why not?"

She smiled sadly. She was scared to say it, the words far more exposing than what they had just done. "Because," she said slowly. "If this became a pattern, and I saw you look at me like that more than once, I would fall in love with you." He looked like she had slapped him. Her heart clamped fiercely against her fear. "And we both know that would be a disaster," she joked, trying to ease him back.

He didn't even smile. He looked at her with concern in his eyes. "You…think you could?" His head was swimming. She was his best friend. He could never fall in love with her. How did she see him, if she thought she could?

She didn't understand his question. Was this a test? Her heart skipped. "Yes," she whispered. "Draco…I've had to stave it off for years. But I can't if I think there's a chance you could love me back. I will fall."

He looked away. What had he done? "I'm sorry," he said. Pansy closed her eyes, feeling the words crumble through her. She had been so stupid.

Unless…

Her eyes snapped open. "Draco," she started. "What if..." she hesitated. She knew this would make him angry. _Fuck it,_ she thought, and as gently as she could said: "What if the Switch is never found?" There was a moment of silence. Pansy waited, mind racing. He looked down at her, watching her. Her eyes…were hopeful.

"You don't want it found," he said. She said nothing. He jerked out of her embrace.

"Draco," she tried to console him.

"No," he said. He barked a harsh laugh at her. "Do you _really_ think my parents would accept this?! The Malfoy line would go through Potter!"

Pansy sat up, brushing her hair out of her face. "No, not necessarily," she said quickly. "You and Potter could make an arrangement, trade seed, there must be some spell that could-"

"This is not my body," he growled at her.

"It might become your body!" she shouted back. She took a deep breath, reaching to put her hand on his shoulder. He pulled away from her, stepping off the bed. "I know you don't want to hear it," she said, wounded. "But this body could serve you better. Don't you see? This could be our happily ever after."

"And Potter?" Draco asked.

"Screw him," Pansy said, angry that Draco seemed to be more willing to take the feelings of his nemesis into account than her own. "I would happily gut and filet that snake myself if it meant you and I could be together!"

"Don't you dare say that," Draco said, a cold fury whipping faster within him. "I would rather take my chances marrying Astoria than be betrothed to someone who would intentionally sabotage my cure!"

Pansy's lip quivered. "You know I wouldn't," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm just saying…" she stopped. "I'm just saying that not finding it, could be okay." Her voice broke at the end, but she refused to drop her gaze.

Draco broke eye contact. He had to get out of there. He started getting dressed as quickly as he could. "I can never be in love with you," he said, his voice calm and firm. "I don't see you that way, not even in this body. I'm sorry…I thought you knew that." Finished dressing, he finally looked at her again. His heart ached to see her so hurt and still. He wanted to comfort her, but knew he could only make things worse. He never wanted a time-turner so badly in all his life.

He left.


End file.
